Flash Fiction

The ranted shouts of a retreating Goldilocks echo through the unwashed corridor of the tower blocks. She is armed with a Kalashnikov, she is strapped with bandoliers. She is a tattered heroine so much older than her living years. And she yawls curses against a furious fetid furry foe. 'Catch me if you can', is her refrain like a hammer blow. 'Catch me if you can', with such force against already broken window panes. She brings disruption to the ordered lives of the fools on the paupers step. She brings chaos without any regret. And whatever she brings, she sells. 

The first time she came her modern blonde tresses were silver strands. Age meant little to her then. When she met a likely young poet all that changed. She became younger, the reasons to return became stronger. Her fine young poet changed the opposition, changed the rhyme and the reasoning. Now she returns and she is never on the side of the angels, always at his heel and always battling. Battling order with chaos, harmony with autonomy and that which proves stubborn she simply removes. But each time she returns the grip of her fine gallant champion loosens ever so slight. His mind, rich looks and dark flowing locks are no longer enough to hold back the tidal wall of franchises and conglomerates. She is becoming isolate. An outlaw.

Now her golden locks ride in rhythm to her cackling gun as she strafes her fabled enemies. But they will never die. Amidst falling glass and growled curses she emerges from the canyon of towers as an impossible omnibus rattles along the wide open running road. Driven by Missy little Muffet and conducted by the prince who was once a toad it pauses just long enough for her to mount. She is the lone passenger. It passes fIelds of fallow ground poppies and heads for once upon a time.