The Goldilocks Project

The Porridge's Story

By Mette Ivie Harrison

The porridge thought it was bad enough that it had to be divided into three bowls. Unequal bowls. One big, one medium sized, and one small. Now all three parts of him were arguing. This one was getting cold faster. This one wasn't getting cold fast enough. And this one--well, this one kept telling the others that they should just stop and look at her--wasn't she the most beautiful porrdige you'd ever seen, and in the perfect sized bowl? Why, you'd think no one had ever seen porridge before. Not even porridge itself!

And then, to make matters worse, the bears approached. It had happened to other porridges before. They all knew it had. It wasn't as if they were anything special. It was just bad luck, really. Everyone had to live with a little bad luck. That's what the porridge told itself--its three selves. But when the bears came closer and closer, those big mouths, those big teeth--the better to eat you with, my dear. Oh, it was too much. The porridge thought it would faint. Maybe it did faint.

Because when it woke up again, the bears were gone. The porridge couldn't believe it! It had been saved by a miracle!

"It's because I'm so beautiful," said the medium-sized bowl of porridge. "The universe couldn't be right if I were eaten."

And then more arguments. The other porrridges had to argue about whether or not it was true. Weren't they worth saving, even if they weren't in that perfectly sized bowl? And why should that one bit of porridge get what none of the others did. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair.

The porridge began to wish they would all just be eaten and be done with it.

And somehow, someone was listening. Because a door opened. A smallish, furless wide-eyed thing entered. The perfect porridge had to call to her.

Why couldn't she have left well enough alone?

But no, she needed someone else to admire her.

So the little girl came closer, who might have gone straight into another room and never looked back at them. After all, why should she have any reason to think that there would be food left out on the table? Who would do such a thing?

"No! No!" screamed the perfect porridge bowl, when the little girl went first to the smallest sized bowl.

"You see? I'm just as beautiful as--" said the smallest sized bowl, right up until the girl lifted the spoon towards her mouth.

And then the screaming started.

They were all screaming.

The little girl put down the spoon and went to the largest bowl.

It moaned and moaned, but she didn't hear.

She took one bite. One bit. Not bad, but still, how it hurt.

And then she came towards the perfect-sized bowl. What a stupid bowl it was, really. It sat there as the girl took one bite, and then another. And another. As if it wanted to be eaten.

Then the little girl simply left her spoon and went on to other parts of the house to destroy. The remaining bowls of porridge were stunned beyond belief. They had been left alive. But the stress of having watched, and done nothing while the other bowl of porridge was eaten--it was too much.

Eventually the bears came back, but the bowls of porridge did not care anymore.

Eat us, yes, eat us, they called.

And the bears did.