Skip to main content

OMINOUS ORDEALS ( DAY 19, LETTER O)


                         CHAPTER 18

                 OMINOUS ORDEALS 

The bears startled, then Papa Koala rumbled, "Goldilocks! You…how can it be !”

Goldwynn knelt among the bears in the arbor, Mama Koala still sniffling into her shoulder. "I'm Goldwynn, Papa Koala...Goldilocks was my great grandma. So... what happened that day? Why are you hiding away here ?"

Papa Koala’s fur bristled.He growled low, his eyes clouding.

"The pigs... they came like a thunderstorm banging on the doors and shattering our windows."

Mama Koala trembled, clutching a torn apron corner. "I hid Baby Tasha in the cupboard. Told her... 'Hush, sweetpea, like a little mouse!' But…"

Papa Koala’s fur ruffled as he puffed out his chest. "I stood tall.'This is OUR cottage!' I said.

Goldwynn leaned in and patted his arm

Papa Koala snorted. "Baconne pig struck me with a stick. Porkinn pig fluffed porridge everywhere! Swinedell pig... he kicked the honey jar and broke things.They were searching for clues to the Locke Jewel"

Coco Koala whispered, "We fled. Into the dark woods..."

"Those scheming pigs told me you were skipping in meadows."

Coco Koala sniffled. "They... they chased us out! Took our lovely cottage for themselves..."

She wailed louder. Goldwynn knelt with outstretched hands and scooped her up. "Shh, I'm here. Hush now. We'll get it back. But first we need to find and rescue Baby Tasha.”

Papa Koala's eyes narrowed. "How and how? Those pigs are... gangsters! Blood thirsty hoodlums."

Goldwynn grinned impishly. "Leave that to us"

The bears exchanged looks, hope sparking like fireflies. Goldwynn tucked Baby Tasha's broken milk cup into her pocket.

To Be Continued....

Image Courtesy:Pinterest

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.

https://www.theblogchatter.com/blogrolls/ominous-ordeals-day-19-letter-o

Comments

  1. Goldwyn seems oddly cheerful, given who she's dealing with. Good luck!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Moxie N' Mettle

                                MOXIE N' METTLE  In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck,  There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage,  Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire  Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation.  Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

BOKETTO

  In my quiet moments, I pause the world from its frantic pace. In that stillness, I wistfully gaze into the distance and just let things unfurl as they please. I let my thoughts flow, absorbing nothing. Internalizing nothing. And just like that, the strands of tightly woven twine untangle and the knots come loose. Today, as usual, I found myself caught up in the hustle and bustle of daily grind. I was rushing to get things done, stressing about deadlines, and feeling overwhelmed by the sheer amount of tasks on my to-do list. But then, I took a deliberate pause. With a deep breath, I stretched, stepped away from my desk, and walked out onto my balcony. Leaning on the railing, I looked down at the familiar lanes of my neighborhood, twirling around the corners behind the blocks of apartments.  The park and playground stood deserted at noon amid the cluster of flowering trees and surrounded by the hedges lining the curbs. I gazed at the sky, feeling the warm sun on my face and ...

CHẠ̀WKHRĀW (Chxw̒kh rxw̒)

  As usual, at the dot of 8 pm, the Guzheng plays its stirring chords, the haunting notes beginning a slow sweep, rising to a powerful crescendo and alternating with a tranquil ebbing of melody surfing me along the waves of soul-stirring, yet a serene stretch of an hour every day.  I make it a point to sit right beside my dining room window to bask in this lulling sound therapy as my neighbor downstairs diligently plays on this zither, oblivious to my admiration. What a luxury it is to have a live orchestra while I savour the last meal of the day. It's a welcome distraction to the otherwise jarring squabbling of the playful neighbourhood children.  The Chạ̀wkhrāw of this– that the musical household might move one day is a foreboding thought. Foreshadowing this, deeply ingrained in me is the shattering news I had received upon returning to Singapore after an 8 month absence here.  The Ramadan festive season was fast approaching at the end of March but the apar...

WABI SABI

  I sit amidst and look around the gentle mess of an assortment of art, surrounded by half-finished paintings, worn brushes, and scraps of paper filled with scribbled thoughts for my journal, I find comfort in remembering Wabi Sabi.  This ancient Japanese philosophy has become my guiding light, illuminating the beauty in the incomplete. I recall the first time I stumbled upon Wabi Sabi. I was wandering through a local art gallery, and a particular piece caught my eye. It was a simple, rustic tea bowl with a jagged, irregular crack running down its side and a broken handle. To me, it seemed imperfect, flawed to the bone even. But as I stood there, taking in the subtle nuances of the piece, I began to see its beauty. The crack wasn't a mistake; it was a part of the bowl's history, of its well loved use and a faded look as well–a result of being passed down generations as a sentimental heirloom. That moment marked the beginning of my journey with Wabi Sabi. As I embrace Wabi Sabi...

HELLO FROM THE OTHER SIDE

The sleek steel grey landline with it's cordless handset gleams in the mid morning sunlight. It's only a fixture on the tabletop these past several years yet loved and flaunted for old times sake. Also, for the numerous times the handset had nestled in our palms. The vintage feel of it and the stronghold of memories I associate it with beats the smartphone by miles.  It has in turn been a confidante of our precious moments, some idling talk, some annoyance oh yes ! and all before Whatsapp made an entry into our lives and the poor dear was no longer in demand. The world was at our fingertips. It doesn't complain, doesn't whimper, not even a sigh, murmur or a slightest hint at a whisper of life for the past decade and more! Except… On Thursday the daylights were socked out of me! Lost in mundane chores, I had my gloved hands deep in a pile of soapy water scrubbing away at the breakfast dishes. The usual swell of silence was harshly rend by the landline from the livin...