Goldilocks, or the Three Bears

by Zachary Ronson



  Goldilocks, or the Three Bears

  By: Zachary Ronson

  Copyright 2015 Zachary Ronson

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  I’m hungry and my mother isn’t home.

  The young, golden-locked girl’s stomach emitted an animal growl, as if confirming her thoughts. She gazed around the meadow as she sat in the cool evening grass, her blue dress stained with the green and brown of a day spent picking flowers. Red flowers, to be precise, that she’d placed in a basket alongside a peanut butter sandwich. The sandwich was gone as of a few hours ago, but her hunger still remained.

  She got up slowly, feeling herself wince as another hunger pang struck her gut like a well-aimed punch. She was a relatively tall girl for a child of eleven years and she dwarfed the red flowers that dotted the meadow below her just as the trees of the forest dwarfed her in turn. Her long golden hair framed a pair of sharp blue eyes on a round face that was usually punctuated with a smile, but right now she was too hungry to be happy.

  I shouldn’t have eaten that sandwich so early. I walked an hour to get here and I’m not sure I can make the trip back home while hungry. Why, Goldilocks? Why do you get yourself into these situations?

  She kicked at a nearby clump of dirt as she mused over her dilemma, further dirtying her soft blue shoes as the scent of grass and dirt became stronger from being kicked up. Mother wouldn’t be entirely thrilled at her physical state, she considered, but right now she had a bigger problem.

  Her mother had left for work in the nearby town this morning, leaving the young and fatherless Goldilocks alone to her own devices deep in the forest they resided in. She and her mother lived alone here neighbored only by the fauna that lived in the flora that stretched for miles. The young girl could theoretically walk over to town, but it was another hour of walking and her mother would be home soon enough to render that journey pointless.

  Guess I’m probably gonna have to walk home anyways.

  Goldilocks sighed and stretched a little, shaking some of the tension of sitting and standing around from her legs to prepare them for movement. The sun’s rays were filtering through the trees at an angle and daylight was slowly fading away. She nodded to herself in a reassuring manner as she picked up her basket and slowly began to follow the path back home.

  After ten minutes she felt her hunger grow stronger and she stopped to rest at a nearby tree, her stomach growling like an angry bear. She balled her hand into a fist and struck it against the tree lightly, muttering under her breath.

  Why does mother have to work so late anyways? She should be home to feed me!

  Just as Goldilocks was venting her frustrations on the tree a strange smell suddenly entered her nostrils. Her eyes widened and she turned to the general direction of the source, inhaling a few breaths to confirm that this was, in fact, not a fantasy.

  It smells like warm food. But I didn’t know anyone lived nearby.

  She quickly began to walk towards the source, the pangs in her stomach forgotten for the moment at the promise of food to alleviate them. The young girl reached a small, yet still rather steep, ravine in the forest and nearly tripped down it as she traversed it, scraping her knee up and further dirtying her dress in the process.

  Ouch!

  She winced, examining her knee. A little blood poured out of the abrasion as she searched her basket for a cloth to press against the wound, finding one and gently beginning to dab up the blood.

  I’m getting careless.

  She carefully wrapped a non-bloodied part of the cloth against her scrape for the time being, being more careful to not bend her knee too much as she began to climb out of the small ravine. The smell was growing stronger now and Goldilocks was spurred on by it. Whatever it was, it smelled great and her stomach grumbled in agreement. After a short struggle with her hurt knee she finally clambered out of the ravine and took a moment to catch her breath, surveying her surroundings as she sidled up to the end of the tree layer blocking her view.

  There, where the trees gave away to a small meadow, was a house in the midst of a small field of wheatgrass. Smoke poured out of a chimney above a charming wooden cabin that seemed rather old. Perhaps even older than Goldilocks herself. The front door was large, noticeably taller than the door of Goldilocks’s house and quite a bit wider too. She rubbed her eyes, still having trouble believing that she wasn’t just fantasizing for her stomach’s sake and that she would be torn from a dream any moment now.

  I’ve never seen this house before.

  Her eyes glanced around, picking up every little detail as she slowly drew closer to it. There were candles lit inside the house making small pinpoints of light through the windows, but seemingly no one was home. The smell was stronger now. Goldilocks detected the scent of oats and the meal was clearly some kind of oatmeal or porridge as she smelled the air, her legs moving of their own accord as the scent practically mesmerized her hungry young body.

  Goldilocks found herself reaching for the doorknob without initially thinking about it, quickly pulling her hand away with a jolt when she realized what she was doing.

  No!

  She moved back from the door slightly, feeling ashamed for nearly entering the house without thinking about it. She didn’t know what was inside, and even then she had been told over and over again that trespassing in a stranger’s house was wrong. She was better than that!

  Or am I?

  She looked down at the ground for a moment, lost in thought.

  I shouldn’t go into the house. But I’m starving and these meals will just go cold since whoever lives here has yet to eat and no one seems to be home right now. I might get caught, though, and since I hurt my knee I can’t run away if they come back. I can’t just go home though since I’m running out of energy.

  Goldilocks picked her head back up, closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, feeling resolute.

  I’ll just go inside and take a quick look.

  Her small hand slowly reached back up to the doorknob. An eternity passed to her as she carefully began to turn the knob. It was unlocked and slowly rotated with the movement of her wrist as she heard the click of it fully opening, her nerves being tested by her own actions. There was no commotion on the other side of the door or any shouts from behind her, so she carefully began to pull the door open.

  No turning back now.

  The house’s interior was surprisingly small despite the large door, perhaps a little barren in decoration and furnishing but rather cozy nonetheless, almost more like an artificial cave as opposed to a house. A large table sat in the middle of a kitchen with three chairs placed at it. More importantly, there were three bowls of varying sizes on the table filled with the source of the scent that had drawn her in like a fly to a spider’s web. In those three bowls was a tantalizing homemade porridge, a favorite treat for Goldilocks at home. The thought that something like this was just sitting here, seemingly untouched, right after Goldilocks had just lost most of her energy from hunger was a strange coincidence crossed her mind. Her hunger roared back with a vengeance and swiftly buried the thought as she sat down at the first and largest chair in front of the first and largest bowl. The first bowl of porridge had a significant amount of steam coming off of it, enough to make the young girl recoil ever so slightly.

  No one was home, but
it was still steaming? Did the occupants leave right after making it in a hurry?

  Her hand shook a little as she slowly picked up the spoon and maneuvered it towards the soft, hot oat cereal to scoop up a heaping spoonful. She slowly drew the spoon to her lips, opening her mouth and tasting some of the porridge.

  Ouch!

  Goldilocks dropped the spoon on the ground as she flinched back, quickly bringing a hand up to hold her tongue. The porridge was way too hot! She’d scalded her tongue a bit and she closed her eyes to dull the sudden pain as she groped around for the spoon she’d dropped to the floor during her reflexive recoiling. She quickly placed the spoon next to the bowl and moved over to the next and smallest bowl of porridge. She didn’t bother sitting down this time as she examined the bowl. There was no steam coming off of it and this bowl had probably been made first. Regardless, she took the spoon next to it more quickly this time, not bothering with caution as much now that she’d already managed to hurt herself in some way. The porridge had clearly been sitting out too long as it was lukewarm at best.

  Well my tongue certainly feels a little better but this is way too cold to actually eat.

  Goldilocks had been spurned twice by the promise of good porridge but continued on nonetheless as she moved over to the third bowl. The third bowl was the most