Prompted Fiction

#8 - Golden Hair (Week 3 No. 1)

This all happened a long time ago, when I was small. I woke up to the sweet smell of boiling oatmeal wafting through the house. By the time I made it down stairs to the breakfast table, mother and father were already sitting down, and the smell, not just oats, but milk and maple syrup and honey, made my mouth water. But, despite my hunger, I wasn't allowed to eat; the food was too hot, still. My mother suggested that we go for a walk in the woods, to let the porridge cool.

I remember that there was a gentle breeze that tossed the scent of the pine branches down to the sunlight-spangled forest floor. We didn't walk for long, but the sun was growing high in the sky by the time we returned to the cabin. The door was wide open - but I'm sure we had left it closed.

We rushed into the kitchen, and I noticed a strange smell. I know what the smell is, now, but at that time it was strange to me, a tangy, sweet-and-sour aroma, not entirely pleasant. The kitchen table was not how we had left it; our spoons were in the bowls, and the chairs were disarrayed.

Father's chair had been pushed back against the wall. "Someone has been sitting in my chair!" he announced.

Mother's chair was wedged in under the table. "Someone has been sitting in mine, as well."

My own chair was laying on the floor. I bent to pick it up, and it came apart in my hands. I held up the loose chair back. "Someone has been sitting in my chair, and they broke it!"

I was furious, but mother rubbed my back and father told me he would fix the chair; that made it better. We turned our attention to the food on the table.

"Someone has been eating my breakfast!" Mother announced.

"Mine, too!" Father complained.

I reached out for my own bowl, and hesitated. Finally, I picked it up. The bowl was shockingly light; it was empty.

"Someone has been eating my food," I said, "And they ate it all up!"

I was on the verge of tears, thinking of honey and maple syrup and the soft texture of the oatmeal. This time, father hugged me, his fur warm under the pads of my paws. Mother went to the hearth, where the pot still sat on the sooty brick hob.

"There's still more porridge," she reassured me, "and honey." And that made me feel better.

Father began sniffing near the staircase, and we followed the strange, tangy scent up the stairs towards the bedrooms. Father's room was first.

"Someone's been sleeping in my bed," he said, pointing out the disheveled blankets.

Mother rushed to her room, where she showed us a dint in the pillow she always kept unnaturally smooth. "Someone's been sleeping in my bed!" she exclaimed.

My heart in my mouth, I rushed to my own little room. There was my bed - and there was a young girl, her wavy, golden hair spread across my pillow, her cheeks rosy in her pale face.

I screamed, yelling "Mother! Father! Someone's been sleeping in my bed, and she's still there!"

The girl started awake, her face flushing even redder as she leapt to her feet. Mother and Father rushed into the room, teeth bared and claws extended. The girl jumped out the window; we never saw her again.

Prompt: Write the story of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" from Baby Bear's point of view.

Source: http://literacyteacher.com/100-writing-prompts/