One of the Circus Hands had brought him a morning paper. He couldn’t believe what he was reading, there on the front page, a photograph of her. She was standing outside her house, the sun shining down on her golden hair, still as pretty as ever. A great long blurb at the side of the photograph; he wasn’t ready to read that yet. He stared at the picture, anger and bitterness filled his heart; his mind slipped back into the past. They had been a happy family; Father, Mother, and Baby, he was the baby. Only six at the time, those events for him were as clear as the letters carved on his parents’ gravestone.
And she, the nosy, prying she, always getting what she wanted, had ruined it: going into their home, when they were out. His memories burned bitter; she’d wandered in, to sit on their chairs, eat their porridge, to sleep in their beds: and ultimately to ruin their lives. The well of his bitterness was deep indeed.
She had been frightened of them, not surprising, she had been fast asleep, and had woken with a start. Did she have to run out screaming? They were actually admiring this pretty, golden-haired child that was sleeping in his bed.
People nearby had heard her screams and had rung the Police, then rushed out to save her from the terrible danger. She ran from their house alone; they were still upstairs trying to understand, what on earth had happened.
Oh the questioning, the accusations, no one believed them, two large bears and even he, the baby, much bigger than the child, people were convinced they had hurt her. Three big bears they must have done something, to make a lovely little girl like that, scream and cry. Their life had been destroyed; they were driven from the home in Greenaway Wood, which had been theirs through generations. The last time his Father had seen it, the door was kicked in, the windows broken, chimney pots knocked off.
No wonder his Mother had become so depressed, she had loved the house. His Father, only able to find work in a circus, had started to drink heavily and Alcohol, so dangerous for Bears, had led him to try and hit a Policeman. He had been shot and killed; his mother so broken by it all, ended up in a Mental Hospital. He, the Baby, the joy of their lives was left alone.
Nowadays, he too, worked in the Circus, the only ‘Civilised Bear In Captivity’, was how they billed him. But really all he did were the things his Mother had taught him, when he was small and thought housework was fun. The audiences were amazed to see him cook a meal, load the Washer, do all the things Humans did. The Newspaper caught his eye again.
Look at her, no wonder she looked smug. Scientists had decided there were optimum conditions required for a planet to develop life. Just the right distance from a Sun; just the right Elements; just the right Atmosphere; just the right amount of Water: like Goldilocks in their house, everything had been just right.
The Scientist had named it, the ‘ Goldilocks Effect’.
He banged his fist on the table in temper; he could tell them what the real effect was.