Once upon a time…
On a brisk bitter November evening, the forest almost looked enchanted; icicles hung delicately from branches, decorating the high pine trees. A sheet of pure white blanketed the ground, making footsteps sound crisp as they crunched through the fallen snow. As soon as evening fell, the forest transformed into a savage hunting ground, the prey being any brave soul who stumbled into the thick dark forest. Anyone brave enough to get lost amongst the shadowy darkness, wouldn't come out alive, as this was where the three bears lived.
Goldilocks, a young homeless girl, with feral untamed dirty blonde hair, framing her long thin face like a mane, was passing by the bear's house that day. Goldilocks was skinny and sickly looking, with skin as pale as the snow surrounding her, accentuated by the rags of scarlet clothing she wore the dirt looked black and grimy stuck under her uncut fingernails. Goldilocks was a very curious girl and realising no one was inside the house, she slyly prised open the window and slid inside.
Three bowls were laid out on a pine wood table, each bowl in size order, gradually getting smaller. Goldilocks was ever so curious and peered over to see what was inside the bowls. Goldilocks reeled back in pure disgust, never had she seen such a putrid sight, leaving a disturbing image in her naive mind. Goldilocks was just so famished; she hadn't eaten in three whole days.
Once more she pondered about the items in the bowls, "maybe just a taste" she thought.
Goldilocks picked up the biggest bowl and prodded it with her spoon. "Far too much" she thought. In the largest bowl there was the decaying head of a human corpse, a pretty young female, aged around 18. The blood had dried and gone crisp, marking the corners of her shocked mouth. Goldilocks was envious of how pretty the eyes of the decapitated head looked, staring straight at her, burning into her soul. Goldilocks picked up the metal spoon and gouged the left eyeball out with precision and skill. The eyeball rolled off the table and hit the ground with a splat, spreading all over the floor like the yolk of an egg. Goldilocks then proceeded to stamp on the remains of the eyeball, squelch; blood spurted out and pooled in a scarlet puddle.
Goldilocks moved on to the middle-sized bowl, looking at it she thought "too bloody." In the middle sized bowl there was the heart and lungs of a human. The conorary valve pulsated, the blood erupting from the centre, crying red. With a sigh Goldilocks moved to the smallest bowl on the table, "perfect!" She cried. In the smallest bowl there was a human small intestine, she instantly got to eat it, licking the blood that had dribbled down her chin.
Goldilocks had never had a meal this filling in many months; her potbelly stretched and hung over the waistband of her size too small, dirty pink skirt. A satisfactory smile crossed over her blood stained lips; pure delight flickered in her hazel eyes. Bloated and heavy Goldilocks dragged her feet over to the living room, where sat three very different chairs. With a deep exhale Goldilocks slumped down on the largest of the chairs, dirty beige worn leather with metre long scratches grooved deep into the arms of the chair. Large questionable patches of crimson stains covered the chair like paint splodges on an artist's pallet. Goldilocks' scrawny body looked shrunken and frail, in the enormous chair. "Far too big "she thought aloud. There were 2 chairs left, one middle-sized chair, and pale pink and cushioned with a printed homely floral pattern and an eggshell white lace trim. Draped lazily over the arm of the chair was a woollen warm midnight blue blanket. To the left of the middle-sized chair was one small chair, upright and uncomfortable, crafted from bleak pine, from the trees that surrounded the house, rough and splinted encapsulating the natural pine.
Goldilocks took the obvious choice, plonking herself down on the middle sized chair. Goldilocks thrust her hand down the side of the arm, rooting around. She seized a large square object, one side was rough and the other was smooth cardboard. Whilst yanking the object out, she realised what was in her hand, a small smile played on her lips, a voice echoed in her head. "Good girls don't play with matches" It was the voice of her late mother.
Swiping the wooden match across the rough striking surface it flickered and an orange light appeared at the end of the match head. "How wonderful" she thought to herself. Goldilocks sat in the middle-sized chair and watched the match burn for a while, the light was so therapeutic it was making her slowly lethargic, and that's when she realised how long it had been since she had actually had a good night's sleep.
Goldilocks screamed a loud a piercing scream. An immense pain struck her fore and index fingers. She dropped the match, and instantly forgot the beautiful hypnotising orange light. Goldilocks ran into the next room trying to find a tap to cool her throbbing burnt fingers. Running to the white marble sink she frantically twisted the tap; it gave a high-pitched squeak, as it turned. Flakes of rust flickered off, speckling the pure white marble of the sink. Goldilocks thrust her burnt finger under the cool pure water. Goldilocks gave a sigh of relief; she turned her head to get a full view of the room she was in. Instantly, she forgot about the pain, as soon as she saw the most enormous four-poster dreamy bed. Every second spent looking at the bed, the more irrelevant the pain in her finger became.
Taking a deep breath Goldilocks fell dramatically backwards, both arms outstretched and her eyes closed, time seemed to pass in slow motion as she awaited the connection with the large springy bed. Waves rippled throughout the mattress, beneath her light body. Her head fell on the lush pure white silk cushions. Where the light cracked through the wide framed window, Goldilocks could see thousands of microscopic dust motes dancing in the air. Somewhere in the house Goldilocks could feel a roaring fire, gently warming her to sleep, Goldilocks sighed, and stretched out on the large bed, and softly closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out, and the only noise that could be heard in the house, was a crackling of a fire.
When three shadows crossed the house, in descending order of size, there was no longer a house, just the distinct smell of burnt flesh and singed hair. In the middle of the smoky grey haze sat a few small charred bones crumpled in a pile, caked in black tar.