Little Red Ryde-ing Hood

The black, shiny motorcycle reflected the beating sun into the sky like the bike was made of sunlight. The glint of light dazzled like a laser, swerving down the switchbacks. A soft rumble roared, reverberating off the mountainside.

If anyone was around, they would have claimed to see a petite-sized person engulfed in the blazing glow that headed straight to the small, lonesome town with two wooden signs. One was placed before the town, and the other was placed after the town.

The first sign had the words Welcome to Strawberry in faded chipped paint. The second was in even worse condition. Some of the words were worn out entirely. If not for the sun bleaching the lettering into the sign, its message would have been disintegrated ages ago.

You are now leaving Strawberry. We look forward to seeing you again soon.

The biker unexpectedly pulled towards the cliff, where there was enough dirt to park. Dainty hands with red polish reached for the helmet, matching the same magnificent color as the bike, revealing a slim, almost childlike face. She had dyed dark maroon hair that looked velvety red in the sunlight and the brightest red lipstick on her thin lips.

She wrinkled her small, pointed nose as her light blue eyes adjusted to the sun. Her thick mascara eyelashes blinked with the slight gust of warm summer’s wind as she scouted the town below. She was high enough up that she could see the whole town. It wasn’t a prominent location. Only a pass-through town with one main road that drove through the cluster of shops. Undoubtedly, the only business in Strawberry came from travelers who stopped for a small break before continuing to their unknown destinations.

Small dirt roads broke from the paved road, leading to tiny homes hidden in the pine tree coniferous forest. Looking at the houses made the redhead’s heart ache. The idea of having a permanent place to stay called to her, especially one so remote, but she quickly shut that emotion down. She left her past; now wasn’t the time to look for a home. It’s not like she could afford it in the first place.

She took in the fresh pine scent, huffed away the sorrowful emotions that began to brew inside her, fastened her helmet, and hopped on her bike, revving the engine. She could spare some of her aimless roaming by checking out the small town before finding a place to hunker down for the night.

Fifteen minutes later, she was slowing her bike past the worn-down, less-than-welcoming sign and eyeing the stores. There were shops on both sides of the road. Some were made from logs, standing the test of time, unlike the ones made from brick with paint and parts of the building chiseled away.

The town had a dead, gloomy feel about it. It lacked any color or pride. Instead, it was like a place where the whole world could be blown to smithereens, and they would be completely oblivious, continuing their depressing, pointless routine. Perhaps the childlike woman would fit in here. The idea had her spine collecting a clammy sweat. Right then, she decided it would be a quick trip through the town.

Despite the town being negligible, it seemed to have everything. The petite-size biker first passed by an old, timely sheriff’s office. Across from it was an antique shop, and beside that was a fudge and candy shop. Her eyes glanced left and right to see a museum, fire station, cinema, several other shops, and a bar at the end of the line. A white-painted church and a library were ironically built across from the bar.

Her eyes locked on the wooden sign with three cartoon coyotes drinking beer, and the red, white, and blue paint swirled, forming the words Ozzy’s. She drove straight there, already feeling the need to quench her thirst.

A few people on the streets stared at her as she passed by. She couldn’t help but feel misplaced. The town was small enough that they wouldn’t even have to guess that she was an outsider. They just knew.

Her feet hit the gravel of the bar’s parking lot just as a group of kids came screaming out of the church. They were all ages, ranging from young to about fifteen. Their faces were full of carefree worry as they roughhoused around, happy to be free until they caught sight of her. Suddenly, they all immediately stopped what they were doing and stared her way. A dozen of them and twice the eyeballs eyed her like she was the next Children of the Corn victim.

Not knowing what to do, the petite lady raised her hand and waved kindly. It wasn’t reciprocated. Then, all at once, as if they were speaking silently among each other, they turned their heads back to the church. A lady in a pink cotton dress and flowery apron stood at the entranceway. The kids suddenly ran back inside, acting like they had just seen a ghost.

The lady with the pink cotton dress glanced at the girl with maroon hair and gave a slight wave before closing the door behind her. A shiver ran down the petite girl’s back as she turned on her heel to head up the stairs to what now looked like an abandoned shut-down bar.