Little Red Riding Hood - Part 2

Red hit the ground with her arms pinned so that she was unable to catch herself or cushion her fall at all. She landed on the grass, but still, she hit hard. Wolf had a death-grip on both of her arms and landed on top of her, eyes glazed over and mouth forming an evil horrid-smelling grin. Her head hit the ground and for a moment she felt the world spin. Wolf pressed his groin against hers and started to laugh. As he did so, he let go of her arms and reached down to undo her pants with his right hand while he gripped her hair with his left and began to bang the back of her head repeatedly against the ground.

As soon as her arms were free, Red shoved her right hand into the right pocket of her hoodie. She gripped the small snub-nosed .38 revolver tightly and started to pull it out. But Wolf was pressing into her right side with his left shoulder as he fumbled with her pants, making it difficult for her to move her arm and draw the gun out of her pocket. Worse still, the gun seemed to be hanging up on the material of the hoodie itself. She could not get damn thing out! The beating of her head against the ground was nearly knocking her unconscious. She could barely think or see straight. She could feel that her pants were now unbuttoned and that Wolf was apparently busy undoing his own pants.

BLAM! Red fired straight through her pocket into Wolf.

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! She blindly fired three more shots, moving the gun around in her pocket as she did so because she couldn't see clearly and didn't know for certain if she was hitting him. Although she could feel him against the gun and almost certainly hit something. It was point-blank, after all, but not being able to see she wasn't taking any chances.

Her father had taught her from a young age that there are certain parts of the body you have to aim for. Shoot too low and you'll just make the person angry, especially if they are on drugs and not feeling the pain like a normal person, but you won't stop them. She wasn't sure, but it felt to her like she was shooting Wolf in the stomach or lower ribs. Higher would be better, but she couldn't move her arm far enough for a shot in the chest.

Wolf stopped banging her head against the ground and let go of her hair. Her eyes began to focus again. She knew Wolf was still on top of her because she could feel him easily enough. But it was dark and she was having trouble seeing clearly. She had only 1 shot left in her 5-shot revolver. She had saved it on purpose in case the first four hadn't done the job. If she needed to shoot again, she wanted to see clearly so she could aim for the head or heart.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. Her breathing was very rapid and she felt as if she might get sick. Her whole body felt shaky and weak. She had always thought it ironic how the flow of adrenaline makes you feel weak even though they say it actually makes you stronger.

Her eyes were clear now, but the moon was overhead and all she could see of Wolf was his outline above her. He was still on top of her, but his hands were down around his stomach and he just seemed to be hovering there, not moving or doing anything. It seemed like he had one hand on the ground next to her on her right. He seemed to be holding his stomach with his other hand and leaning slightly to his left.

Red pushed him hard with her left hand and threw him off of her so that he fell to his left as she rolled away from him. She jumped to her knees and pulled the gun out of her now shredded and smoking pocket. She aimed it at him and waited for him to make a move.

But he never did. He just laid there beside the curb, eyes open and glassy, like before, and he looked at her. The moonlight shone on half his face now and he looked almost like a ghoul, with empty eye sockets and no expression. His hand was still across his stomach and the other arm was outstretched in front of him where it had been propping him up.

Red kept her gun aimed at his face. She knew she should aim for the chest, but for some reason she really wanted to shoot him in the face. It was more personal somehow, more satisfying. And if he moved even a little bit, that would be all the excuse she was looking for.

But he never did. Big, bad Wolf was dead.

To be continued ...

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