Goldilocks looked upon the table already set for breakfast. Her eyes feasted on the three bowls of porridge. Her tongue began to salivate as she had not eaten in days.
Some time ago now, she had lost her way in the forrest and just minutes earlier had stumbled upon this cottage. Or was it a facade? an oasis? an hallucination? “I must be dreaming?” she muttered to herself, dumbfounded and disbelieving.
That daze lasted only seconds as she snapped out of it and rushed toward and cupped her hands around the first bowl. It was hot. Too hot! Goldilocks winced as the poor nerve endings on her hands went to rest in peace. Unperturbed, she closed her eyes and relished in the sweet smell of cinnamon and nutmeg that danced the most beautiful pas de deux of aromatic duets. She picked up the spoon resting to the right of the bowl and swirled the porridge hastily, when all of a sudden, she heard a little voice whisper, “Not this one.” Pausing, she assured herself, “Nooooo, only crazy people hear voices.” And so she continued to churn the porridge in a clockwise direction, attempting to cool it down a bit when again she heard, “Not this one.”
“Yup, I’m definitely crazy,” she said aloud, “and now I’m talking to myself. Wonderful.”
Moving on to the next bowl, she sat down and with the spoon in her hand, she again, very clearly, heard the same small still voice whisper the same three words she didn’t want to hear.
“YES, this one! I’m starving!”
“Not this one.”
And with that, she moved on to the next bowl with an excessive urgency. This time she didn’t even bother to sit down. She grabbed the spoon in a hurry to shove the porridge in her mouth before she could hear that voice again. “Not this one,” it calmly repeated.
“What?! Why? Why not?” Her eye let out a tear. Her mouth, a snivel. Her tummy, a growl. Confusion clouded everything. Frustration and fatigue unleashed a flurry of defeated thoughts.
Feeling far more dejected than hungry at this point, she dragged her aching body and heart up the creaky staircase and down the hallway where she beheld a long and large room with stunning bay windows at the end. Goldilocks stood in the doorway. Her eyes rested upon the three beds evenly spaced and each meticulously made. Feeling like she could easily sleep at least two entire REM cycles in broad daylight, she staggered over to the first bed about to belly flop when she heard, “Not this one.”
“Wha…”
“Not any one of these.”
“Wh…”
“Not yet.”
—–
Dont’ understand it? Yeah, me too. At least, not yet.
