Your Little Red

　　You are Grandma. 

　　You have a wealth of money, a tad of crankiness, and diabetes. 

　　Your granddaughter should be coming to visit you today.
　　She is adorable in her own way; always wearing her little red riding hood, picking flowers for you, and bringing cake which her mother bakes to exacerbate your diabetes (or so you assume). You throw away the flowers in the yard after she leaves and never eat the cake, but nonetheless, your granddaughter is adorable. 

　　She makes you worry though. She shares the trait of her mother: disorientated, clumsy, or, in more blunt terms, just downright dumb. You fear that, one day, she will be fooled into getting eaten by a wolf.

　　A knock on the door.

　　"Who is it?"
　　"Little red," the voice says.
　　"Really?" you ask. "You always quizzed me on who was at my doorstep."
　　"I learned some manners."
　　"And were you that tall? Your voice comes from my height," you say.
　　"I grew," it says. "I'm growing fast."
　　"And your voice seems a bit raspy," you say.
　　"I'm sick, Grandma."
　　"Oh my," you say. "Let me see."

　　And so you open the door.

　　And you're swallowed whole.