Red Riding Hood in the retelling

The most exciting interpretation of the famous fairy tale.

Image of a red cap and a gray wolf from its very appearance does not leave alone the best minds of mankind. It seems to us that way, "Little Red Riding Hood" would be told by famous writers on the night of her baby.

Red Riding Hood in the retelling

Richard Bach

- I am a seagull! - Wolf said.

- It's an illusion, - said Little Red Riding Hood.

Under the wing with the scope 10, 17 "Cessna 152" with a horizontal four-cylinder engine Lycoming O-235-L2C volume of 3.8 liters. and a power of 1 * 110 liter. from. at 2550 rev / min flashed blue tops of the magic forest. The plane landed at the small house on the edge, built of white stone.

- Do you see the house? - Little Red Riding Hood said, smiling slyly.

- We do attract into your life cabins and grandmothers - Wolf sighed.

Haruki Murakami

When I woke up, Red Riding Hood was still asleep. I smoked seven cigarettes a row and went to the kitchen, where he began to cook the noodles. I cook the noodles are always very carefully, and do not like when I have something to distract from the process. On the radio Pink Floyd. When I ran the sauce noodles, the door bell rang. I went to the door, looking for the way to the room. Little Red Riding Hood was still asleep. I admired her ears, one ear was highlighted by the morning sun. I had never seen such ears ... Opening the door, I saw a wolf. In memory immediately came Sheep ...

Vladimir Mayakovsky

If, comrade, you put

hat, red



upstairs -

Come boldly:

you all have

by ***

boldly go, nobody

Do not be scared

tight squeeze


for grandma, gnawing



a life!

Guy de Maupassant

Wolf met her. He looked at it that special look that experienced Parisian libertine throws at provincial coquette, which is still trying to pass himself off as innocent. But he believes in her innocence no more than her and if already sees how she undresses, as her skirt fell one after the other and it is only in a shirt, under which outlines sweet shape of her body.

Victor Hugo

Little Red Riding Hood trembled. She was alone. She was alone, like a needle in the desert, like a grain of sand among the stars, like a gladiator among venomous snakes as somnabula in the oven ...

Jack London

But she was worthy daughter of his race; in her veins flowed the blood of strong white explorers of the North. Therefore, and without batting an eye, she threw herself into a wolf, he dealt a crushing blow and immediately reinforced his one classic uppercut. Wolf ran in fear. She looked after him, smiling his charming female smile.

Red Riding Hood in the retelling

Gabriel Garcia Marquez

It will take many years, and the Wolf, standing against the wall waiting for the shooting, remember that long-ago night when the grandmother ate the cake as much arsenic as would be enough to wipe out a lot of rats. But it is as if nothing had happened tormented piano and sang until midnight. Two weeks later, Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood tried to blow up the tent unbearable old woman. They breathlessly watched by a cord to the detonator crawled blue light. They both stopped their ears, but in vain, because there was no screen. When Little Red Riding Hood ventured inside, in the hope of finding a dead grandmother, she saw that the life in it more than enough: the old woman in tattered shreds shirt and charred wig worn back and forth, scoring a fire blanket.

Edgar Allan Poe

At the edge of the old, dark, entwined in a mysterious veil-rigid timber, over which floated ominous dark clouds of vapor and if heard the fatal sound of shackles, in the mystical horror lived Red Riding Hood.

William Shakespeare

Eat or not eat, that is the question?

Red Riding Hood in the retelling

Patrick Süskind

Wolf smell was disgusting. He smelled the smell of cubby tanner, where rotting corpses. From his dirty, gray skin, came mouthwatering smell of carrion, bittersweet, vyzyvavschey nausea and disgust. Wolf himself felt that he was completely focused, he admired the Little Red Riding Hood. She smelled of violets at dawn, the indescribable odor that happens with colors only a few minutes before sunrise, when the bud is not yet fully revealed.

Red Riding Hood in the retelling

Rudyard Kipling

- We're the same blood! - Little Red Riding Hood screamed after the wolf. - Good hunting!

Honore de Balzac

Wolf reached grandmother's house and knocked on the door. This door was made in the mid-17th century by an unknown master. He cut her out of fashion at the time Canadian oak, giving it the classical form and hung it on the iron hinges, which in due time may be, and have been good but is now badly rattled. On the door there were no ornaments and patterns, only in the lower right corner could be seen one scratch, which said that it has made its own spur Celestin de Shavard - a favorite of Marie Antoinette and a cousin on the maternal side of my grandmother's grandfather's Little Red Riding Hood. For the rest, the door was ordinary, and therefore you should not dwell on it in more detail.

Red Riding Hood in the retelling

Erich Maria Remarque

Come to me, - said Wolf.

Little Red Riding Hood poured two glasses of brandy and sat on his bed. They inhaled the familiar scent of cognac. This cognac was melancholy and weariness - the longing and fatigue fading twilight. Cognac was life itself.

- Of course - she said. - We have no hope. I have no future. Wolf was silent. He agreed with her.