Goldilocks and the British Accent

06 | Her Saving Grace.

Goldilocks🚺

Suddenly, I feel a prominent vibration in the wall behind me and soon after, a bright flash of orange light illuminates the area. A wave of immense heat washes over me as I rise from my crouched position to see the building buried in a wild inferno of red hot flames.   

The sudden shock of the explosion causes my inner goldilocks to awaken in all her clumsiness and irrationality. She analyzes the situation and immediately begins to panic.

Out of impulse and an undying flare for drama, goldilocks begins to run. The task of running is not made easy by her high heel stilettos so she decides to slip them off and jet them over her head – into the flames.

Poor shoes.

As usual, the supreme being of the universe – whoever he or she is – deems it fit for all this to happen in slow motion.

"Wait!" Theodore's exotic voice calls behind her but she pays him no mind. "We're on grass, the fire won't reach us. Don't go anywhere."

Her bare feet continue to pad wildly across the grass, carrying her over the field in no particular direction. Her left arm flails in the air over her head, swiping away at the thick black smoke.

In the distance, she spots a large luxurious pool of water and her eyes widen with hope. She immediately formulates an equation in her head.

Fire + Water = Safe Goldilocks.

With her new found hope, she drives on with more energy, her feet moving faster and harder against the wet grass. She thinks back to when Theodore smelt the smoke. The fear that overcame his face after the scream. The way he said fire.

Fuhyah.

Oh, the things she would give to hear him say that word again. If not for the explosion that followed, she would not have known what this fire was. Her entire mind and being were too lost in the magic that was his accent.

She shakes her head. How can she think of Theodore's accent at a time like this? She lifts the hem of her dress as she nears the edge of the pool.

In one simple motion, she leaps into the dry air, eyes wide and hands clutching her Chanel purse tightly. She just wouldn't let it go.
The wind rushes through her hair as she soars, letting the gold strands loose in all directions. She holds her breath as she plunges – feet first – into the chilling cold water.

The shock of the freezing water on my skin brings back my consciousness and with it, my sanity – if ever it was there in the first place. The shock also makes me realize some very crucial facts.

I am in a pool of freezing cold water. I cannot swim. I am going to get hypothermia. I am going to die.

Once again, my eyes widen as I begin to panic. I thrash my hands about, beating furiously at the bubbly water around me. A few feet away, I spot my Chanel purse sinking with the weight of its content – one of said contents being my phone.