There it was, Goldilocks Tomb, nestling amongst the last stand of green trees, as if, somehow, that small area had been protected from the ravages of the forest fires. There was no sign of the lid or of any headstone, no message from beyond the grave. I ran my fingers inside the base of the tomb and cautiously smelt them. A faint tang of ashes, but, of course, they could have blown here from the fires. I don’t know what i expected, that somehow Goldilocks would rise again, that the clock would be turned back, that we would have another chance. Foolish thoughts.

The cult of Goldilocks had grown over the last twenty years or so as the savage impacts of climate change strangled our planet and more and more people lost their livelihoods and then their lives. The planet protectors adopted the mantra ‘not too hot and not too cold‘ but in reality their actions were always too little or too late, foiled as ever by those in control. ‘Business as usual‘, was the mantra of those entitled ones, the exploiters, fiddling the system as ever while our planet burned.

And then, one day, i heard a whisper that Goldilocks had lived, that her story was more than just a fairy tale, that she was buried in a secret location in the mountains north of where i grew up. I determined to find her tomb, to see if there was any message, any hope of saving our planet. Now here i was and the last embers of hope were extinguished, nothing but an empty tomb. Someone had been here before me, had raided this sacred ground.

The sound of the flames grew closer and the smoke made my eyes water. There was no place left to go to, there was to be no second chance, no resurrection, we were all consigned to the fires.


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