The New Series to come.

The Last One. 


The Last one is an on-going online sci-fi series, the story will follow a young woman who is a currently suffering amnesia but the world isn’t quite as she remembers. She awakes after countless years of slumber to a world in ruins. Join her as she discovers the mystery of what happened to humanity and more importantly what happened to herself.

First part in the series comes June 12th. 

Under construction.

I’ve been looking back at my time with my blog, my course work and altogether just my whole path with writing. I very much want to update the blog give it a revamp and start putting up far more edited and professional versions of my work.

As I stated in a previous blog post I’m looking to start a series on the blog, giving about a paragraph each month and a short story each month also. For the first while my short stories will be revisits of my previous work with my more trained eyes.

Coming up after this post is a short summary of the series to come, I hope you all enjoy what I have laid in store and I hope you enjoy the journey of my creative outlet.


Thank you to the few people that keep up to date and to the people asking for more stories. It is hugely appreciated and I hope I do not let you down.


It has been a while…

It has certainly been some time since I’ve been on my blog, soon this will change.

After having a brief look at the past I see the silly mistakes I made. Some of which yes kind of embarrassing like all those typos and grammatical errors. I didn’t truly draft much or have anyone look over them and I’m cursed with being a writer with dylexia unfortunately.

However, I shall be looking to the future the blog will be getting a bit of a lift in the days to come. Some of which as follows: (or at least my hopes)

A short story (once a month)

a continuous series

a column about me, my interests and just everyday life (once a week)

I’ll make sure to tag everything so it is easy to find what you are looking for.


I hope to be of some entertainment as I share my craft with you all and find my feet in the world of writing.


Thank you for reading my words, it truly means a lot and I hope you share this experience with me.



A little of my thoughts… On gaming

So here goes, I don’t usually post things like things but it’s the best place to get my feelings out and vent. Yes and I know I took a long break from doing things because of life and general university work.

So i’ve noticed a reassuring theme with life, particularly when it comes to people my mother’s age but not all I will point out. Everyone is different.

Getting to the point many people hear that gaming is still a big part of my life and their reaction is to just say, “have you not grown out of that yet?” or “you were always into boyish things” Now you can see what I want to rant about, yes? If not this isn’t for you and I suggest you stop reading.

everyone else, I’ll address the first point. Now I like to read books, either it be novels or short stories I love them. Yet they have no problem with me spending hours and hours with my face in a book. Yes I know, video games and books are quite different. However, the point i’m making is that both can have such immersive plot that captivate you. That can make you forget the bad things in this world. That can distract you from just about anything. With characters that move you, that you can relate to.

Personally, I find video games a lot more immersive than books. That’s just me however, I know a lot of people don’t agree with such. To hear the shame people feel for me when they hear I play video games it’s upsetting. I’ve been through and currently going through a really hard time in my life, now I’m not looking for sympathy I’m not that kind of person the point I’m making is that games were there for me. When times got really tough, when I was really down I played games and I am forever thankful to those who make them. They’ll always hold a special place with me. I also want to point out that games should never be stated as “boyish” There are plenty females in the video game profession. I myself am much better at games than my boyfriend but due to his gender some feel he is more entitled to play them than I. Which just sounds silly to me. Sounded silly to me as a child and I still stand with that point. Do what makes you happy! Do what makes you feel relaxed and at peace. Everyone needs that. It shouldn’t be what other people think, if people make you feel down about something that you find enjoyment with. Those aren’t nice people. As long as you’re enjoyment isn’t hurting or inflicting pain on others why should it concern others?

Going back to being to grown up to do something, which is a lie I say. Despite a lot of games out there not being child friendly we’ll put that aside. But keeping your inner child isn’t a bad thing. If you liked superheroes and comics as a child and still do as an adult, then good you keep going. Don’t feel as if you should do what other do. If you still play with lego then build to your hearts content.

We move on from out lives as children, we become more mature, we have to deal with life and whatever it may throw at us. Having fun and laughing can be the very thing missing in a lot of people’s lives. Don’t judge people for what they find enjoyable. It might be the very thing holding that person together and keeping them strong for the grown up stuff to do.

At this point, I would like to thank you for reading all the way down here and reading my thoughts. I respect those who do not agree, as I said we are all different. I also acknowledge that there is bigger things in life going on. Just thank you and remember do something enjoyable today. You are you. So be you.



I’ve been doing freewriting exercises for university. Where I’ll give myself the start of a sentence and I’ll take a couple of minutes to write a paragraph. Not a short but might be a little fun to share these ones that I haven’t taken any further than short paragraphs. Enjoy! 😄
They’ve either been inspired by the sentence themselves or television. Anything to get my creativeness going.

A long time ago I used to be happy, considered normal and not to mention popular. Now the deemed popular kids and my once friends couldn’t look the road I walked on. That’s just how it was now, ever since my Dad died no one wanted to hang around with the depressed girl. It wasn’t my fault I felt lonely and sad. I couldn’t help the way I felt. They put up with it for about five months and after that they started making excuses like they were busy doing homework but went out to the cinema. It hurt, I felt betrayed. Soon I realised School was measured in who your friends were, like how rich they are or that everyone knows them. It’s about how the see you, how the feel towards you. I don’t think they cared about me because I was deemed attractive I was automatically in the popular group. I knew I would pick myself up, that’s what my Dad would’ve wanted. I just want to make him proud, be the daughter he would’ve wanted. Even if he wasn’t around, it felt like he was. In my heart. My Dad would look down at me one day and be proud and that was my goal. I couldn’t care less my friends didn’t want to know me, I wanted a career not the cutest boyfriend.

I went outside and the sun was shining. The birds were singing. As every day was, today was perfect. It was great being a newly wed. The relationship feels new, even though we have been together for years. People look at me as if I’m beaming and I swear I have a glow. I just can’t stop smiling, yes I do wish my wedding day never came to and end but I’m glad the planning did. The stress of planning a wedding was completely and utterly unreal. No one prepares you for that, you go in and think nothing could be better. But the seating plans, entertainment, meals, suits, dresses and shoes. My god, I’m thankful no more planning for a while. It’s a bad thing to be thankful for, yes people are alone and they haven’t found their one. But there was plenty times we wanted to scrap the wedding and elope somewhere. I’m glad we didn’t though, because that day will always be the best day of my life. I know the rose tinted glasses would fade away soon, and I’d pray that they wouldn’t. I knew I would enjoy it while it lasted.

It was no use pretending. I was having an affair, I didn’t plan on it. I didn’t even think I ever would. I love my husband, but the thrill and secrecy was just too exciting to pass up on. I felt absolutely horrible afterward and now I am certain he knows. The first time we didn’t exactly plan on it. There was obvious chemistry between my assistant and I. That day was different. I called him in for making a fool of me in the Schimt case. He was late in bringing me the case notes. I was so angry, but the way he was looking at me with those puppy dog eyes I really couldn’t be made for long. That’s when He got up and we both passionately kissed on my desk. Sending papers and pens flying everywhere. We couldn’t care, our raw passion was far too much. I had to give in, I was strong enough to fight the urge. It had been so long since my husband even looked at me in that way, I needed this and I needed it now. That was the first day we did it, right on that desk. It was the best I ever had, I screamed that loud that he had to cover my mouth over so no one heard us. We were meeting up in hotels ever since. It’s been about 6 months now, we even tried dating. That didn’t work, we were both just very passionate people. I thought about leaving my husband for him. But I’m 46 and he is only 25, it just wouldn’t work.

I thought I heard a noise, it was getting ridiculous. Every time I’m alone, I can hear absolutely everything. That water dripping out the tap, the silent echo of the hall. Was that footsteps? Was it just a general creak? Paranoia seems to be my only friend these days. Can’t wait until someone comes home then the house can be filled with that comforting noise. The hustle and bustle in the kitchen, the chatter in the living room. I turn on the television quickly just to make any kind of noise. I know I’m not the only one that feels that slight scare when they’re alone, hear noises that are just natural noises and assume the worst. I’m not alone when I think that, but most of the time I can’t help but think that I am. But why do we do that? As humans, terrified that someone is watching us in the privacy of our own homes. Another noise, I was certain that it was from upstairs surely. Most definitely. I stand, feeling confident but my hunched-over posture said otherwise. Anyone watching would know how I’m feeling. I slowly open my living room door and inch closer and closer to the stairs. Quickly turn the light on then quickly, swiftly, briefly take a look upstairs. Good all clear, another noise. I let out a short breath. Sigh. Then make my way up the stairs taking each one very anxiously, with dread I continue on. Finally reaching the top and clinging to the bannister at the top of the stairs. Flick the light switch. And take that final leap, that final last look to see what is creating the noise. My hand touching the bedroom door handle, with one deep large breath I walk in and let it out to be welcomed by my pet cat. The pet cat who felt it great to be having one of his crazy hours when I’m alone and paranoid. All I could do at that point was laugh, just at how silly we could be as people. How our imaginations can drive us insane with fear. All over a slight noise in the house.

There was something unbelievable in the desk drawer. I sat at my own husbands desk where he sat everyday working hard at absolutely everything. His beloved job, paying our bills, dealing with out family matters. The desk that I blame for our problems and our distance. There is was the actual blame for our distance, why my husband, my once best friend wouldn’t confide in me anymore. I took out the picture, of the student that was just a student. However, I always found it strange that he kept in contact with her despite finishing the course six years ago. There wasn’t just one, there was at least five photos of them together. My anger got the better of me, took my body into automatic and I just began tearing and ripping. The tears flooding over my face, I felt numb and horrid. I looked at the desk, the tiny pieces of photos, the smiles and memories that they had together. It made me sick more than anything. I brushed my hand over the pieces to scoop them into the drawer, slammed it shut and went out of the study as quickly as possible. I couldn’t stop picturing them together. “Get your act together,” I said to myself over and over. I stood over the bathroom sink staring at the mirror. Looking at the wrinkles, thinking of the years I wasted on that man, the best years of my life gone. I was leaving him, he wanted me to find those photos, I knew he was going to be telling me that he’s leaving me. I had to do it first, might seem immature and childish. I wanted my pride, it was all I could have left.

She said it might put things in perspective, how she didn’t feel like her anymore. That she was a robot: going to work, coming home, making dinner then sleep to start again tomorrow. I said, “You could quit your job, take a step back from what you want to do.” Yeah, she thought of that. Apparently I wasn’t the only thing she was leaving behind. She started speaking really fast that she could travel the world see some sights, I understood she didn’t feel happy. I was the one that was to make her happy. The way she acted as if she was telling her high school boyfriend all of this. I was her fiancé we had a wedding planned, we had deposits down that neither of us could get back. We took extra hours at work to fund it but obviously that’s got her confused. “You’re just getting cold feet, it happens to ever bride when it’s so close.” I told her, tried to reassure her that it was all going to be ok. Despite that fact she may as well have reached into my chest and squeezed my heart until it bursts. She was certain that wasn’t the case, she was certain that it was everything. That if she doesn’t do something she’ll end up with depression and have no motivation to do something. I tried again, “Instead of a honeymoon, we could travel together. Pack our bags and live in a new culture together. Experience things together.” I smiled, thats when I tried to hold. She pushed me back, started screaming at me that I just don’t get it. I just don’t get her and I don’t deserve to anymore. I never gave her the attention she needed.

I thought he would never change, that boy of mine. Honestly, you like in this made up world where babies don’t grow. Their first day of school, your heart is in your mouth because he’s that same very baby you cooed at night to. The same very baby that learnt how to walk and it took your breath away. Here he was, finishing high school talking about university, how he is going away to live with your friends. He sounded happy, and I didn’t know if that hurt more. I knew I had to be strong, letting go is part of the parenting experience. I didn’t want him to turn into the 35 year old that still lives with his parents. He will always be mummy’s little boy. Even if he wants to go live with his friends. I reassured him, told him his room won’t change a bit, so he can come home for christmas. His father agreed and added may even bring a girl home with you. Or boy I added.
“Mum! I’m not..” he whined,
“I know, I know.” I smiled, although I had plenty of pictures of a girl version of himself when he was around 11. Younger than that I excused, but 11. It did make me laugh. No one prepares you for it, the leaving of your only child. You just have to be reassured that one day he will come back, when he needs you of course.

Coffee, toast and three paracetamol. That was the morning ritual, before any big meeting. The stress would cause me to have this horrendous headache. So I found that those worked. I understand that it’s meant to be two, but that never worked. Three was just right, three worked wonders. I needed to get this meeting just right, after mucking up the last one. All because I was stupid enough not to go shopping and I assured myself I had plenty of coffee. That was a day I’d rather not relive, coffee kept me going. Gave me that morning kick to get into gear and do something. Yes coffee was great, paired with paracetamol. I was unstoppable. The toast, never had much of a play in this mystical pairing. I just needed breakfast in the morning. Most important meal of the day. Obviously the meal that is often skipped has that kind of tagline. Make sure people are eating in the morning.

Soul Reliever (Part 1)

My name is Daniel. God’s little helper by some. But I like to think I am Saint Daniel. Yes ok it is a bit much, but my patience is completely golden. You know how the saying goes, patience of a saint. Don’t want to toot my own horn, but well… you know. I like to think I’m a giver and all round just a great person. I gave up my place in heaven to help those poor lost souls down on earth, few have done the same but I really give that job role my own. I have won employee of the month several times. Well it doesn’t exist in the land of the dead but if I did I would’ve won several times. My formal job title is; “Soul Reliever” but my job is so much more than that. My day to day life goes as follows: read up on new case notes, watch their last moments, hold a meeting where we focus on counselling and of course give some poor soul a little push in the right direction. I help people find their unfinished business and I’d say I’m pretty good at it. Obviously for it to be unfinished business I can’t just tell them what it is. They have to figure that out all on their own. Plus means they’ll put more work into it. This whole walking around with your family strapped to you is absolutely tedious. Not to mention painful. For some they see their loved ones move on so fast that you wouldn’t even think they mourned in the first place. Then of course it’s very difficult to watch people cry over you while you watch. Purgatory they call it. I myself think thats a little over dramatic.
PING! Ah, there’s a case now. I walk slowly from my desk to a large chute devise, I’m sure it had a name at some point. Honestly I can’t think of it so I just call it the Case giver-er. Catchy I know. I pick up the brown file and inside it tells me everything about that person, the only thing that doesn’t tell me is your thoughts. Those are between you and God. So I read through. Male. 32 – oh that’s quite young, however not unusual. Single, aw bless never found his one. Oh he’s shy. I love the shy ones, they come out to me like a little caterpillar and I help them blossom into a butterfly. That isn’t just a metaphor they do get wings afterwards. I skim through to the back page to see how this poor chap met his demise. Knife in a toaster. Oh! Didn’t his Mother warn him about that. Stupid, stupid. I sit prepared and bring the screen up on my glass desk. I see the man impatiently standing waiting on his toast. His fair haired fringe hanging over his right eye. It’s very clear to see his strong structure has he had his arms folded. Finally I can hear the familiar toaster popping noise but the toast fails to rise. The male burns his fingers a few times and failing to retrieve his breakfast before taking the plunge for the knife. Oh, I always hate this part. The surge of electricity sources through him and he’s gone instantly. Poor dear. I hope my people get my business card to him swiftly.
I make my journey back down to earth which is a lot quicker than you would think and I begin getting set up in the little community hall that was once there. It looks a little run down and the big man upstairs wants it to appear drearier. Makes people more motivated to get to their next step. That’s just they way he is, motivator. An inspiration for me. I set out some lovely elegant flowers, some white carnations this time round. I smile down at them and admire the beauty that they show. The chairs are all set into my favourite shape, a circle. The place might seem a dump to some. But I am always so proud at the work goes on here and for me that shines through. I sit in my usual seat, tablet to hand with all my cases that are attending to do. Obviously sometimes we get no shows and honestly that just makes me sad because I just can’t reach them. I can’t work that special Daniel magic.
“Hello Daniel.” A little whimpering voice behind me makes. I turn to see Harold. What a dear little old man. His stature is always so inward, scared to let anyone in. He shares on occasion but usually just small things. I don’t like to force the shy ones, it doesn’t seem right. One day I just know he’ll be a butterfly. I give him my award-winning smile and he sits down next to me. He gives his grey – very thin – hair a little fix and he stares at me and sighs.
“You ok Harold?” I smile once more, however now I give him the lean in. Which shows I am concerned and interested in what he has to say. Of course I am, but I like him to see that too. The lean in consists of me crossing my legs, leaning my elbow on my leg and my head on my hand. Then of course the important bit, I lean in. It’s fabulous and works 90% of the time. Harold the stumbles over some vowels and consonants, then finally says;
“I just… ummm… I’m just wondering when is it my turn?” He looks away, “I’ve been here a while, I’ve seen people come and go. When can I go.” His face becomes more sullen. It does break my heart to see my souls like this.
“Harold, I feel like it’s soon. I really do” This time my smile is more genuine, no rehearsed stance or facial expression.
Pretty soon my place becomes more filled with people. The noise of chatter as they have all gather always warms my heart. Well it would if I was alive, but you get my expression.
“What ever happened to that girl?” One of the older women said, “You know the grouchy one.”
“Allison,” Harold mumbled.
“Ah yes, Allison or of course as she preferred it Allie. She has worked out her unfinished business and finally moved on.” I smiled, she was a tough nut to crack. Always so moody and never shared. Then like I always thought, she finally shared and it worked wonders. Mostly just doodled one spare bits of paper.There was a few sad faces in my circle at the news, but most seemed pleased.
“So folks, we have a new comer.” I gave my voice a sweet melody and gestured towards our newest member. He seemed disorientated like most of the newbies. He looked round the circle.
“I’m Ryan.” He said and a chorus of “hi Ryan” greeted him into our group. “I don’t fully understand why I am here.”
“Ah well, you see Ryan, if I may. This is the group of the dead. This is the part that helps you into the next step in your existence.” I smiled at him.
“Purgatory Circle.” A younger girl spoke softly.
“We don’t really like to call it that,” I scowled at the girl. I hate it when they call it that, drives me round the bend. Makes me feels that my meetings aren’t fun. I know about the agony they go through, the pain. I understand. I just wish they called it something else. “Have you any idea Ryan as of now if you have unfinished business.” Ryan sat and pondered for sometime. I let him collect his thoughts and went round the rest of the circle. Mostly the the same things I hear from all of them. That they don’t know how to get their unfinished business done. Harold was in the middle of telling one of his stories. I wanted to drift off, I’ve heard them all before. Ryan cut him off,
“I have a box of letters.” he announced. Everyone then turned to look in shock. “I meant to give them to Sara. She was the love of my life. I just never told her.” I smiled at him, I’d never had anyone figure it out that quickly. There might be people who has been here for years but there are those lucky ones that come in and leave. I’ve had people here that has been here for years. I feel for them, they are my responsibility.


The pavement glistened with the reflection of street lights in the rain. There was a whistling in the wind. All throughout the street there were side by side houses. Houses that were filled by families, warmth and food. Goldie could see the glow from the windows. She tried to hold back the tears while thinking about each happy family sitting snuggled up in front of their televisions. Tears would just take up energy, energy she didn’t have. Goldie stopped and looked at a house across the way. It had a beautiful garden filled with all kinds of flowers. It also had a pathway from the stairs all the way to the red painted door. But her eyes were focused on the window, it’s glow seemed brighter than the rest. She could just see a little of inside and she wanted to see more. Goldie carefully crossed the road keeping an eye out for cars. Her rugged, baggy cardigan began slipping off her shoulder and she heaved it back up to cover herself from the rain. It was the only thing that kept her warm. She stole it from the last house she was in, she had to. It was burgundy and good few sizes too big for her, but their children’s clothes were far too small. Underneath she wore a stained – once white – nightgown and black holey socks on her feet. Goldie took what she could get and she didn’t complain. She loathed stealing and she detested breaking in but what else could she do?
She began creeping up to the house to get a little glance of the inside. With one hand she scooped back her long golden locks. That’s how she got her name, well, her nickname. Her big piercing sapphire eyes gazed into the living room. Her heart pinged with delight. No one was home, the glow was from the light. Most likely energy efficient, she thought. They tended to be the brightest. Goldie went round to the back to spot where she could see a way in. The back garden was prettier than the front. It had a little pond and when Goldie went over she could see real live fish inside. She smiled a little as she watched them dash away from the raindrops. Their beautiful colours shining through the water. She swore she could see a silver one, so she placed both hands on the little wall beside to lean in a get a better look. That’s where she heard the clunk of metal as she hit over a rock. She picked up the rock and turned it over a label of some sorts. It read: “Property of T. Bearman”. She slide the little compartment on the back of the rock and she couldn’t believe her delight. A key. She was in. Goldie almost jumped for joy as she took the key from the little rock. All she could think about was getting away from the rain. Getting some warmth. Having something better to eat instead of scraps. She ran towards the door and tried her very best to stop shaking so she could place the key within the lock. She heard the sweet sound of clicking as it unlocked. Goldie clambered in and closed the door behind her. She instantly felt the warmth rush over her. Goldie almost collapsed as she was that tired and hungry. It had been days now since she had a decent sleep and she had no where to go. She wandered upstairs and saw all the family photos on the walls. Jealousy overwhelmed her, just of this little boy. He had everything. A family; a roof over his head; all the food he needed.
Goldie first decided that she needed out these drenched rags. Usually she checks the kids room first for clothes but as she judged by the photos the mother seemed around her stature. She waltzed into the clean and pristine room. Everything was white, she felt bad about the big brown puddles she left on their carpet. Needs must, she thought and she wondered in more. She threw open the drawers seeing all sorts of colours and materials. Off the clothes went and on the new dry clothes to replace them. They fitted her perfectly. She even found an entire outfit. Goldie had never had any clothes that fit her this well. She skipped over to a full sized mirror. She started observing her feet. Which now were covered by big thick socks that she pulled right up her leg. She presumed belong to Mr Bearman. And she then slipped on boots over the top. They were a brown leather with a small heel. Her feet has never felt such comfort. They normally felt squashed in with shoes and she never really knew why people wore them. She put on black trousers and the material on her bare legs was bliss. Plus she liked how snug they were around her waist. She found a lovely yellow top, which was her favourite colour. She buttoned it all the way up. She couldn’t help smiling into the mirror. Goldie didn’t stare too long, she hated seeing her face. Skinny and slender with big dark circles around her eyes. She remembered the days when she had colour on her cheeks. When she wore a yellow dress. She looked back at the mirror and rubbed away the tear that fell from her eye. Her face was filled with dirt. Come on now, I have to be tough She thought. Goldie then walked over to the wardrobe and scanned through all the clothes in there. She then found it, the exact thing she was looking for. A big thick waterproof jacket. Oh she was delighted.
After she was sorted with an acceptable outfit and she found a towel to dry off her locks. She went down stairs and searched for food. Every time her stomach growled it ached and she had to hold it tight to numb the pain a little. The kitchen was elegant, the kind Goldie saw in adverts. Not even her old house was anywhere near this nice. She looked through the fridge and found three tubs of porridge. She wasn’t a huge fan of the stuff. Each had a name on it, she found it all really strange. There was a large tub which had “Tim” written on it. She cracked open the lid and scooped some up in her hands. It was disgusting she thought and for a first Goldie could eat something delicious in a house like this. So she tossed the tub away and cracked open the second one which read “Mary” It too tasted ghastly. Far too sweet compared to anything Goldie ever had in the past. So she decided to toss that away too. Then she came to the final one which read, “Junior” she expected it to taste just as horrible. In actual fact it tasted delicious. She took the tub and sat in the living room. There was a long very comfortable couch and she sat on it and ate every bit of the contents of the tub.
“Well he might be fat, but he knows how to eat.” She said to herself.
When she finished the tub of porridge she began to get a little bored. It was still raining outside and she wanted to soak up every bit of fun as she could from this house. That’s when she saw the tablet on the coffee table. She always saw children play with them but she never even got to hold one. She grabbed it and pretty soon was able to control it well enough to play a game. Goldie had never had this much fun in ages. So she played it more and more. Minutes went back and soon she was playing it for an hour. That’s when Goldie started to get too frustrated.
“Why do people play with these stupid things” She screamed at it and threw it across the room. After she heard the loud smash she quickly ran over and saw the whole screen had been smashed.
Goldie thought it best to get some sleep until the rain stops and then continue on. So she left the tablet there and went upstairs to try out the beds. She tried out the large kingsize bed from the room she tried on clothes. It was horrendous to sleep on. In fact she would prefer sleeping on the floor than this. Goldie went next door to the boys room and tried it his bed. She felt safe and sound. She could hear the rain rattling off the window. That didn’t stop her and soon she was snuggled up and dozed off to sleep.
Around four hours later in walked the Bearman family. Mary, who was quite small and like Goldie had judged, around her size. She let out a low squeal at her beautiful carpets. Instantly blaming the males of the family about it. Until they walked into their living room. Tim was the first to notice an empty tub lying on the floor next to the couch and he could’ve sworn it wasn’t there that morning. As Mary and Tim were too distracted about the tub. The didn’t hear their sons sobs until he let our a huge scream. Mary quickly observed what has ailed her poor darling son. He showed them both the remains of his latest tablet. All the hours he spent his games gone. Mary tried to soothe the situation by grabbing her son a drink to calm his nerves. But she almost fainted at the sight of her kitchen. It was her high pitched scream that awoke Goldie from upstairs. She was startled, she was always so clever when it came to going into people’s houses. She would clean up after her the best she could and she would be gone. Goldie had to blame how comfortable the bed was. She opened up the bedroom window and climbed down the drainpipe. Not the first time it’s happened and she didn’t enjoy doing it. But she ran until she couldn’t anymore. She was going to miss that house. It fit Goldie just right.