By Nadia Kingsley
GOLDILOCKS is dying.
She has managed to crawl out from the cave where she had feasted so well on fish, but then foolishly, in hindsight, had taken a nap.
Next thing, a giant paw had come out of nowhere, her leg had been mawled, and her skin was shredded.
Through shallow breaths she had dragged herself out, but when she looks back and sees the three bears – just sitting there, waiting, she knows this ends one way for her.
‘Who will know my story?’ she gasps.
Out of desperation and pride, she grabs a nearby stick and starts writing.
©Nadia Kingsley 2016