Sometimes, she missed the wolf. At times like that, she wandered deep into the forest, recalling the path she took that very day, reminiscing the beautiful flowers she picked on the way. She tried to remember which turn in which the wolf encountered her with such polite smile. Her mom kept telling her that it was a cunning one–but well–it’s not her mother who met the wolf. The wolf is dead. Yet there’s something bothering her. Why did he take such complicated way to trick her? He could just eat her the moment they met–then went to her grandmother and finished his feast. Why should he be all nicey and even showed her the flower garden? The wolf is dead. His smile was haunting her, Still.
Tidak semua yang aku tulis adalah aku, dan berhentilah menerka-nerka, sebab dalam permainan kata, aku bebas menjadi apa dan siapa, karena dalam dunia kata aku adalah sutradaranya, aku adalah dalang pada tiap cerita.