Post by Mekka on Nov 13, 2005 21:41:16 GMT -5
This is 4 short fanfic I wrote about six months ago... it still need 4 little editing, but I thought I'd post it here and get some feedback! Enjoy.
“Tell me a story, Grandma.”
“Hush, girl. You must be still as glass and quiet as the Folk.”
“Tell me again, Grandma! Tell again of the faeries!”
The old woman laughed, her face wrinkling up into a hundred tiny crinkles. “Mercy, child! You’ve heard that tale a thousand times by now.”
“I know,” the child said eagerly. “But I want to hear it again! You can tell me once more, can’t you?”
The Grandmother nodded and sighed, and leaned back in her creaky rocker. She closed her eyes to frame the story, but instead of faeries she was thinking she had never seen such golden hair or bluer eyes than that of the little girl at her knee.
“Gran’ma!” A small hand tugged impatiently at her sleeve.
“Peace,” laughed the Grandmother, “I was only thinking of the beginning.”
“Of the story?” She frowned that the old woman should forget so important a thing.
“No, child. Of time.”
Her blue eyes grew wide, and the Grandmother thought of sky. “What was it like?” She asked.
“In the beginning, everything was new. The world was not as it is now, full of dust and wrinkles and cobwebs. Everything was very new and small, like a baby just born. “
“And that was when the Fay Folk came,” breathed the child, and the Grandmother thought of soft summer breeze.
“Yes, then the Folk came, tripping out from under the ground in their wee little coats and hats. Every shoe had a silver buckle, and the fair prince rode at their head on a swan’s feather. He was dressed most splendidly of all; with a jacket of rosepetals and trousers of spider silk. There was even a tiny shoe of Ladyslippers on each foot.”
“Truly?” She cried. “Ladyslippers? It must be splendid to dance about with the cool flower petals between your toes!” She fluttered around the dark room in imaginary dancing shoes, but the Grandmother saw a beam of sunlight.
Soon she was tired of slippers, and begged for more. “And what happened after the faeries came out, Grandma?”
“Well, the faeries were not the only ones to come tripping out from under the ground. There were others, darker things, that had also found the enterance into the brand-new world. Shadows and monsters and hobgoblins, evil things! They slipped out from under rocks and slid up from deep holes to hide in the shadows of the corners of the earth. And gradually, as the Folk made homes in flowers and under trees, they spun shadows all around the world, until much was cast into darkness. The faeries felt the shadows as if they had been cast over their own hearts.”
“Oh!” She exclaimed softly.
“And slowly,” said the Grandmother quietly, as if a great weight had fallen on her shoulders, “the light of the Folk faded, and diminished. They fell prey to the darkness that surrounded them, one by one, the spun sugar of their wings turning to ash. And they fell from the sky like so many wounded butterflies, their tiny souls filled with darkness and wandering the dying earth.”
And now, because the child was wise, and understood a great deal more than many grownups of that day, she said, “It is like my mother. Like poor Mamma,” and her heart grew sad for her mother and the faeries. A cloud passed in front of the sun.
“Yes, like Mamma. She was a butterfly; you can chase them so far, but in the end they will slip through your fingertips. Poor Mamma, poor Adiele!” echoed the Grandmother with a cry. Half to herself, “Shadows caught her. What can I do but keep the child best I can? Is it too late?” She moaned and drew a feeble hand across her face.
“Do not cry, Grandmother! For that is not the end,” She moved touch the old woman’s parchment face with a rosy finger. “There is more of the faeries. Tell me the rest of the story!”
“How true, it is not ‘The End’! I will tell.” Blue eyes, golden hair, thought the Grandmother. Magic. “Though the faeries were wounded, and their light diminished, it was not the end. Light is stronger than darkness, and sun is better than shadow. They had fallen only to rise again! For there has never been a time when the good is completely lost by darkness, even now. The faeries rose again to chase the evil back into its hole, with tiny bright swords like silver shards of moon flashing in the air. But those who could not fight, the children and the women and the old,” she said with a smile, and closed her eyes as if remembering, “Found that, although the strength to wield a sword was now beyond them, a gentle word and a kind deed were a more powerful remedy than bloodshed. And so the faerie Folk went to all the corners of the earth and dispelled the shadows they found there. Slowly, slowly, the light of the earth grew once again strong and bright. The earth began to heal, and all that dry, and barren, and dead bloomed and was green and good once more.”
The child sighed, starry-eyed, and the breathless words tumbled from her rosy mouth. “And then, Grandmother, they danced, didn’t they? And feasted – strawberries and cakes and morning dew - and the bonnie Folk king was there, with his sword; and he danced with the queen, didn’t he, Grandma?”
“Aye, he did,” laughed the Grandmother. “Truth, child, you know the story better than I!” she began, but the words froze silent on her lips.
“It was very beautiful?”
“Yes,” said the Grandmother, but she was not listening anymore. Instead, she stared at the doorway just over the little girl’s head. Dreading to hear footsteps on floor below the attic where they had come to hide, the old woman and the child. And they were there, the shouts and screams filling up the room to the ceiling and spilling out of the doors and windows; and the child saw the Grandmother fall down under the heavy black glove, and broke free of the arms that held her.
“Can you see them, Grandmother? Do you see the faeries?” cried the child.
“Yes,” whispered the old woman, for the Grandmother also had blue eyes.
..............................................................................
“Tell me a story, Grandma.”
“Hush, girl. You must be still as glass and quiet as the Folk.”
“Tell me again, Grandma! Tell again of the faeries!”
The old woman laughed, her face wrinkling up into a hundred tiny crinkles. “Mercy, child! You’ve heard that tale a thousand times by now.”
“I know,” the child said eagerly. “But I want to hear it again! You can tell me once more, can’t you?”
The Grandmother nodded and sighed, and leaned back in her creaky rocker. She closed her eyes to frame the story, but instead of faeries she was thinking she had never seen such golden hair or bluer eyes than that of the little girl at her knee.
“Gran’ma!” A small hand tugged impatiently at her sleeve.
“Peace,” laughed the Grandmother, “I was only thinking of the beginning.”
“Of the story?” She frowned that the old woman should forget so important a thing.
“No, child. Of time.”
Her blue eyes grew wide, and the Grandmother thought of sky. “What was it like?” She asked.
“In the beginning, everything was new. The world was not as it is now, full of dust and wrinkles and cobwebs. Everything was very new and small, like a baby just born. “
“And that was when the Fay Folk came,” breathed the child, and the Grandmother thought of soft summer breeze.
“Yes, then the Folk came, tripping out from under the ground in their wee little coats and hats. Every shoe had a silver buckle, and the fair prince rode at their head on a swan’s feather. He was dressed most splendidly of all; with a jacket of rosepetals and trousers of spider silk. There was even a tiny shoe of Ladyslippers on each foot.”
“Truly?” She cried. “Ladyslippers? It must be splendid to dance about with the cool flower petals between your toes!” She fluttered around the dark room in imaginary dancing shoes, but the Grandmother saw a beam of sunlight.
Soon she was tired of slippers, and begged for more. “And what happened after the faeries came out, Grandma?”
“Well, the faeries were not the only ones to come tripping out from under the ground. There were others, darker things, that had also found the enterance into the brand-new world. Shadows and monsters and hobgoblins, evil things! They slipped out from under rocks and slid up from deep holes to hide in the shadows of the corners of the earth. And gradually, as the Folk made homes in flowers and under trees, they spun shadows all around the world, until much was cast into darkness. The faeries felt the shadows as if they had been cast over their own hearts.”
“Oh!” She exclaimed softly.
“And slowly,” said the Grandmother quietly, as if a great weight had fallen on her shoulders, “the light of the Folk faded, and diminished. They fell prey to the darkness that surrounded them, one by one, the spun sugar of their wings turning to ash. And they fell from the sky like so many wounded butterflies, their tiny souls filled with darkness and wandering the dying earth.”
And now, because the child was wise, and understood a great deal more than many grownups of that day, she said, “It is like my mother. Like poor Mamma,” and her heart grew sad for her mother and the faeries. A cloud passed in front of the sun.
“Yes, like Mamma. She was a butterfly; you can chase them so far, but in the end they will slip through your fingertips. Poor Mamma, poor Adiele!” echoed the Grandmother with a cry. Half to herself, “Shadows caught her. What can I do but keep the child best I can? Is it too late?” She moaned and drew a feeble hand across her face.
“Do not cry, Grandmother! For that is not the end,” She moved touch the old woman’s parchment face with a rosy finger. “There is more of the faeries. Tell me the rest of the story!”
“How true, it is not ‘The End’! I will tell.” Blue eyes, golden hair, thought the Grandmother. Magic. “Though the faeries were wounded, and their light diminished, it was not the end. Light is stronger than darkness, and sun is better than shadow. They had fallen only to rise again! For there has never been a time when the good is completely lost by darkness, even now. The faeries rose again to chase the evil back into its hole, with tiny bright swords like silver shards of moon flashing in the air. But those who could not fight, the children and the women and the old,” she said with a smile, and closed her eyes as if remembering, “Found that, although the strength to wield a sword was now beyond them, a gentle word and a kind deed were a more powerful remedy than bloodshed. And so the faerie Folk went to all the corners of the earth and dispelled the shadows they found there. Slowly, slowly, the light of the earth grew once again strong and bright. The earth began to heal, and all that dry, and barren, and dead bloomed and was green and good once more.”
The child sighed, starry-eyed, and the breathless words tumbled from her rosy mouth. “And then, Grandmother, they danced, didn’t they? And feasted – strawberries and cakes and morning dew - and the bonnie Folk king was there, with his sword; and he danced with the queen, didn’t he, Grandma?”
“Aye, he did,” laughed the Grandmother. “Truth, child, you know the story better than I!” she began, but the words froze silent on her lips.
“It was very beautiful?”
“Yes,” said the Grandmother, but she was not listening anymore. Instead, she stared at the doorway just over the little girl’s head. Dreading to hear footsteps on floor below the attic where they had come to hide, the old woman and the child. And they were there, the shouts and screams filling up the room to the ceiling and spilling out of the doors and windows; and the child saw the Grandmother fall down under the heavy black glove, and broke free of the arms that held her.
“Can you see them, Grandmother? Do you see the faeries?” cried the child.
“Yes,” whispered the old woman, for the Grandmother also had blue eyes.
