Here's my entry! It ended up not having much to do with little red riding hood, but you can probably see some similarities.
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"Is that Mom's car?" Jemma asks suddenly.
I look where she's gesturing. She's right, the little blue Ford pulling into the parking lot is either ours or one that looks exactly the same. Odd, Mom never picks us up from school, we've always taken the bus home.
"Yeah, looks like it," I say. The two of us extricate ourselves from the cluster of kids waiting for the bus, and walk to the car. Mom is sitting in the front seat, and gestures for us to get in. We do, Jemma in the front and me in the back next to our younger brother, Benson.
I can't see Mom's face well from my seat, but she seems frazzled. She doesn't say anything to us when we get in, simply drives off as soon as our doors are closed. My seat belt isn't quite buckled, and I scramble for a moment trying to get it in place before we leave the parking lot.
"Where are we going?" asks Jemma, sounding as confused as I feel.
She doesn't respond.
"Benny, you have any idea?" I ask Benson.
"Dunno," he responds.
I stare out the window, trying to figure out where we're going. My mental map of the city isn't very good though, so I really have no idea. What I can tell is that Mom's not driving safely. She's definitely going over the speed limit, and has run several red lights. Several other cars on the road honk at us, but luckily I don't see any police cars around to pull us over.
It's only a few minutes later when the car turns into a parking lot. I see where we are, and things start to make a little more sense. The city hospital.
I immediately panic. Did something bad happen to Dad? To Grandma? And what happened? It's only been three years since Grandpa died, something bad shouldn't be allowed to happen so soon! I know my logic there is flawed, but I'm too worried to care.
Mom gets out of the car, which I notice is parked halfway between two spaces. She says nothing to us, but we all follow her anyway. Dad is in the waiting room, which calms me down a little, but not much.
Mom tells Benson to go to Dad, the first thing I've heard her say all afternoon. She sits down on a bench in the waiting room and gestures for Jemma and me to join her. She sits for a moment, then takes a deep breath and begins to explain.
"Grandma had a stroke."
"Oh my god!" yells Jemma immediately. It's about what I'm thinking too, but I stay silent. Nothing I could say can change the awful facts.
Mom continues. "She's having surgery now. She should survive, but there's going to be major brain damage."
"Oh my god," Jemma repeats, more quietly this time.
"How long will the surgery take?" I finally ask, trying to keep a calm steady tone, despite the speed my heart and mind are racing.
"I don't know," Mom says, after a short pause. "It could be a while."
We walk over to Dad and Benson, and sit by them. Benson seems to have some idea what's going on, so I assume Dad explained everything to him in a way an eight-year-old can understand.
We sit. And wait. And wait. And wait. Eventually I get out my phone and start playing games on it, but I can't focus on anything and keep losing, so I put it away again.
Finally, it's eight o'clock. Mom wants to stay at the hospital, and Dad volunteers to take the rest of us home. We get in the car and drive home. The car is silent.
When we arrive home, I simply go to bed. It's long past dinnertime and I haven't eaten, but I'm not hungry in the slightest. I can't sleep, though I feel exhausted.
Not long past two thirty in the morning, I think of something.
I get out of bed, turn on the lights, and open my closet. On a hanger towards the back is what I was looking for.
For my thirteenth birthday, Grandma gave me a hoodie. It was far too big for me and a disgusting shade of burgundy, but I felt bad about getting rid of it. It's lived in the back of my closet since.
The color isn't as bad as I remembered. When I put the hoodie on, it fits perfectly. Wearing the red hoodie, I crawl back into bed, and finally fall asleep.