Little Red Riding Hood: A Communist Tale

by Kate Schulman 

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wore a red velvet cape everywhere she went. Her name was Little Red Riding Hood, as her communal family called her, since she didn’t have a real name. She was born with a barcode number on her forehead, but it was ripped off of her because she was not to be defined by the demands of a Capitalist society.

One day, Mother #16 said, “Red, why don’t you go visit The Woman in The Woods? She feels awfully lonely and has only her work to help her survive.” The Woman in The Woods was Red’s woman born before the woman who birthed her. Red agreed, as it was her turn in the tribe. She set off into the woods with a basket full of homemade bread and a case of Cutco knives.

However, as she delved deeper into the woods of The World, Mr. Wolf came upon her. He was a nasty creature, with his health-insured smile and a self-help book in hand.

“Good day Rob,” Red greeted. Mr. Wolf snarled.

“That’s Mr. Wolf to you, Little Red.” Red smiled and laughed, a tinkling sound embraced in the dark woods.

“No thank you, Rob. That’s your name, isn’t it? Rob?” Mr. Wolf sighed and slowly sat himself down on the stump of a cut down Oak tree.

“Yeah, it is. It’s actually Robert, but I ditched that to sound more ‘in with it.’ I’m really trying to work on myself right now,” he said.

“Are you alright, Rob? You seem a little down. Let’s try to work on the problem at hand together. That way, we can achieve something great together.” Red rubbed his arm soothingly.

“It’s just that…when Chelsea left…” Mr. Wolf started.

“It’s okay. You can say it. It was hard––”

“It was hard. And now I’m just trying to date myself. I’ve been doing transcendental meditation. I went to an Applebee’s the other day and ordered a pan-seared Cajun steak. I don’t know what’s happening to me,” Mr. Wolf buried his head in his paws and started to cry.

“Do you have a job? I suggest throwing yourself into it. That way, you can get so much more work done and contribute more of a bountiful supply to your family!” Red exclaimed happily, reaching into her basket and throwing her Cutco knives about in pure glee. Mr. Wolf shielded his face.

“Whoa! What are you doing, throwing Cutco knives around?” He shouted.

“I’m expressing myself within the confines of my society. But it’s, like, really great,” Red clarified. Mr. Wolf raised his eyebrows.

“Really? I mean, wouldn’t you rather be free to do what you wanted?” He asked. Red thought for a moment, swinging around a Cutco knife.

“Hmmm. No thanks! Well, I’ve got to go. It’s time for my family and I to forage.” Red got up from the tree stump, collected her Cutco knives from the brush, and started her way back home.

“Wait,” Mr. Wolf called after her. Red stopped and turned around. “Aren’t you supposed to visit your Grandmother?”

“You mean The Woman in The Woods? She’s fine. She has her work to help her survive. She doesn’t need all this homemade bread. By the way, do you want some? I’m not exactly sure how far you live from this part of the woods, so only Marx knows when you’ll get your next round of sustenance. Why don’t we split the bread exactly down the middle, so we each have an equal part of it?” Red called back.

If she squinted, Red could see Mr. Wolf giving her two thumbs-up in the distance. She threw an exact half of the bread as far as she could, but it landed in the mud. This made Mr. Wolf angry, so he ate her. She cut herself out of him with one of her handy Cutco knives, and then went home.