Flower Fairy

I thought of this story when I was a little girl. I used to think fairies slept in flowers. Eventually, I placed my hands on the keyboard and wrote around that thought, and this is that.



Today, I walked in my garden the day after my Father's funeral. I beheld the roses that he had loved so much. I wondered to myself why would such a proud mighty man spend so much time caring for flowers?
Then, a particularly large warm rose caught my eye. It seemed to be in full bloom, and yet to my astonishment it bloomed further! Behold, what did I see inside? Why a yawning female! She stretched out her tiny limbs and yawned with her bright mouth. She had golden eyes and living hair upon her head. I was so shocked, I nearly lost my footing! Convinced that I was over stressed by my Father's demise I retired to my chamber. However, the next day I had to investigate the garden. Lo! Again, I found the tiny female this time slumbering just beneath the petals. Day after day, I returned to her just to catch a glimpse at the lovely lady. How I yearned to be a tiny man so I could take her home as my wife. We would live in a tree, and oh how happy we would be.

Earth and Air

I wrote this little bit of words, because I was frustrated with a friend of mine. I really just missed her. All well.... There is a time.




I am earthy and you are glam. How can we be friends? I admire the flowers as they grow, while you wear a fake one in your hair. You want to look stylish, and I only want to be covered.

Oh little air fairy flying through the sky why do you not stop and get to know people you pass by?
An earth fairy holds still, unless there is work to do, and makes friends through consistent care.

Princess Adelide

I wrote my first novel when Iwas 14. I finished my sixth draft of that novel when I was 19. Since then I have tried to get it published. However, after re-reading for who knows how many times, I decided it really wasn't that good. I could write it again, but I just don't want to do that. Instead, I am writing a totally different book. I have a really good feeling about this one.
Meanwhile, would you like to read a different story I started on when I was 14? To say, YES, read on. To say, NO, oh wait if the answer is "no" you probably already stopped reading.

If every girl got the chance to be a Princesses what would happen? Would every girl marry a prince? Would every girl live in a castle? I propose to you that there is such a place. A place where every girl gets to be a Princess at some point in her life, and for Adelide Spooner that point in her life was her tenth Birthday.

At first she was thrilled beyond belief, she was to be sent to a castle on an island off the southern coast. There she was to be trained to have, beauty,brains, and blue blood. It was going to be magical. Everything she ever wanted to be was at her fingertips.

Then life hit her. Yes, she was picked up from her Father's house by a horse drawn carriage, but it wasn't a comfortable gliding ride. It was rough and bumpy going down unpaved country roads. Not to mention the smells that came from the unmentionable end of the horse. Then the terrifying ferry ride to the island during the midst of a typhoon! At the shore the wheels of the carriage got stuck in the mud, and she was rather rudely told she either had to walk in the rain back to the ferry or on to the castle.

The mud squished beneath her leather shoes. She recalled as a child how she used to like to walk in mud with her bare feet after a summer rain, but now it brought her nothing but disgust. Her wet clothes stuck to her cold skin. The water was weighing her down, and slowing her progress. The darkness was so strong she wasn't even sure she was going the right way. Then lightning...

The light filled the whole sky and for a brief moment it became as bright no brighter than day. A day with pure white light, and against that pure white sky stood, towering before Adelide, a limestone castle, with long narrow windows of stained blue glass.

Adelide exhaled, and as her breath hung in the air before her darkness consumed the image of the castle. She now knew which way to go. She mustered the strength to arrive at the castle's door.

Hero: A short Story

I wrote this story a few years ago for fun. I almost used it for my Intro to the Arts class project. When I opted for a different story, this story remained unread. I feel bad that it has remained alone for so long . So today I will post it, without further ado. The Hero.
I found her on the side of the road. The rain had nearly pulled her limp body down into the rank sewer. The layers of muck and mildew seemed to coat all of her skin. I knew I could lose my station for carrying her home to my master's house, but I could not leave her out there to die. I thought maybe I could treat her in my quarters, but she needed a healer’s skill. With all the courage I could muster I brought her before my master to beg him to save her. My master asked me how I knew the thing in my arms was a woman. I told him that I could tell by the softness still in her face. My master asked me why someone washed away by the gutter deserves to live. I replied because we do not have the right to deal out death to such an innocent. My master praised my words and ordered his maidservants to take the woman from my arms. It was only then that I felt discomfort in the dampness that was residing in my clothes.

It has been three weeks now and only now have I been given permission to see her. I march up the marble stairs to the second floor. I pass by many single doors leading to small bedchambers reserved for the servants of visiting guests. However, at the end of the hallway stood double doors, suddenly a fear grips me. I know not why. I reach my hand out to pull open the door only to have it burst forth on its own. Light floods the floor before me. I strain my eyes to see. The window behind a large oak bed is wide open, and its white cotton curtains blow wistfully in the breeze, as well as an enchanting lock of warm brown curls across a pale face. She smiles as a person does when new life is brought into this glum world, I wonder how such a thing is possible. She is so lovely, as lovely as the women of the courts of Florence. If not more so.

It has been yet another three weeks and the lady I found has yet to be discharged from my master’s care. I see her rarely. She smiles at me closed mouthed with healthy pink lips. I remember that when I found her they were a bluish white. It may seem odd but I find myself embarrassed to think of the day I found her. To think I had carried such a lady? I wonder why my master has not released her. If she has no place to go why has he not employed her among his servants? I asked if it had been discovered that she was a lady of good blood. My fellow keeper scoffed at me and made a crude comment referring to our master's blood. It has been hours now since he said those words to me and they still irk me! Surely, Master will release her soon.

The battle has reached the western front. Our fair city is now being filled not only with refugees, but wounded soldiers as well. There is fear that diseases will start to spread. The Master has taken care that his household has limited contact with the city. I, for one am totally forbidden from entering. Since rescuing the fair lady I am known mockingly as “hero."

Six months from the day when I found my fair lady a great banquet was held. It was supposedly in honor of the end of the war. I was pleased to have an evening off, and I was not going to trouble myself with the festivities, until I was told by a kitchen maid that my fair lady was to be attending. I had scarcely seen her in months. I had to attend. Surely she would be seated with the household women. It would not be terribly against decorum to speak to her in passing if she sat there. When I arrived at the banquet she was nowhere to be seen. I felt pain. I was startled at this. Then I remembered the moment when I carried her life in my hands. I was afraid she would die before I could get her home. I could hear my own heart beating loudly in my head. I remembered how I had hoped that her heart was still beating. I even had the idiotic notion that maybe by virtue of the fact that my heart was beating hers would too. Oh look, my Master has made his grand entrance. It cannot be...

A wedding is considered a joy. The city is rejoicing and relishing the gossip over the identity of the bride. I loathe their prattle. You should hear the things they say! They claim that my Master found her half-drowned in a brothel. They call her whore and harlot. Even those that defend her do not do her justice. They claim she comes from an ancient royal family, and that she has a secret map tattooed on her to untold treasures. They are disgraceful! Vile! Evil! Oh how could she be any of those things? She cannot be, can she?

It is odd. Today is my Masters wedding day. I should be happy to have a new... Well when the last mistress died things were never as nice around here. So this is a good thing. However, he could have asked me. After all I am the one that brought her to him. She has no Father to ask. He ought to have asked me! Me? A common man, that has nothing to offer a bride? Did I say bride? I meant, well, it does not matter what I meant.

The hour draws near and I have been sent to tend to the garden terrace. I guess today everyone has forgotten that I am not the gardener. I arrive, clippers in hand ready to trim the massive amount of vines that twist and creep around the terrace. To my astonishment I see my gentle fair lady sitting alone. I drop my clippers. She laughs lightly, and proceeds to my horror to stand up and then bend down to reach for the clippers! I quickly snatch them up. "After all mi lady it is not your place to be touching grimy things like me. I mean like these. Those have been touched by me and that made them grimy to begin with because they were clean because they had not been used today and..." I stopped talking. Her eyes look sad. Not like they did the day I saw her first well. That day they were radiant.
"I want to thank you again for rescuing me."
Air swirled in my wind pipe causing a guttural wheezing noise to exit my mouth. Yet she continues.
"I was ready to die that day. Years before my parents had left me in the care of one of our vanquished enemy households. Not a household like this but an ordinary family. I lived with them until the grain rationing. They required me to work very hard to obtain my share of bread. I have never been very strong. I could not work hard enough to earn bread. So I ran away to the woods hoping maybe I could live off of wild berries I used to find as a child. That was fine for a few nights. Then the rains came, and the only warm dry places were in the bandit camps. So I chose to die that day rather than to be taken in as a woman for the bandits. At first I thought I would freeze to death, but then the stream flooded. Its current took me away. That is when I thought that I would drown. Little did I know that I had been taken into the city? The first thing I remember after that is the feel of your breath. It was first warmth that I had felt in a long time. Do you remember what you said to me?"
I shake my head as though I was trying to rattle out the memory. "I did not know I said anything."
Her eyes lost their sadness as she said "You said 'God please save her. I want her to live.' You said it over and over again." The sadness in her eyes return."Moments from now I wed. After the celebration the master and I are going to live in the west."
I wonder at this. It will be dangerous to live in reclaimed territory. Why would the master want to risk her life?
"I chose what household I desired to become mistress over. I chose it in the hopes of finding my family. I have no ties here."
A bubbly lump of blue poison stirred up at these words, but as though her mouth dripped magic she banished that grief with these words.
"My only tie is to you. You renewed my faith in God and people. I am most honored to have been in your presence, and though I will receive a high status in this world upon my marriage to the master of this land that status is nothing next to a heroic heart."
These words are too much to bear, and if we were to be seen alone together what then?
"I see that I have upset you. I am sure it is because of your humility, and sense of propriety. Please remember I am just a common girl that does not know her place."
At this I gained my words. I told that she spoke the truth in part. She was right when she said that she did not know her place. I told her she did not belong next to our noble master, but next to great Kings. I told her how her graceful gentleness to household servants had raised the moral of everyone during her months with us. I told her that it was an honor for me to have carried her.

She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. Did I offend? I hope not. No wait she has taken my hands in hers. How are they still soft after so many struggles? Perhaps she really is a princess. Is she speaking again? What did she say? Or is God showing me mercy by making me deaf?

I did not tend to the terraces. I did not attend the wedding.

It has been years now. I have not seen her since that day on the terrace. However, I have received letters telling me of her. They are from her children. Every few years I receive a letter from one of them in honor of their birthdays. The letters thank me for being a hero.

Christmas

Some people love their family. Some people love their friends. Some people even love objects like lamps. Those loves are wonderful, and I learned about them at different times in my life, but there is a love that can be difficult to feel and even harder to act upon. It is the kind of love that gives even when it hurts. The kind of love that cannot always be appreciated by those that receive it, but it is needed like a life-saving medicine that has a foul taste.

I had heard about that kind of love many times in my life, under many different names. Names like compassion, sacrifice, unconditional, or agape. All of those names put a different spin on the profound truth of love. I had heard them defined, however the meaning did not find its way into my heart until the Christmas my Dad was unusually tired. I noticed my Dad doze off while opening his new bag of socks, but being an average self-absorbed child I dismissed it, after all he was an old person. Yet later on that day my older brother was noted to be tired as well. It was then I learned of my Dad’s late night adventure.

The night of December the 24^th all were snug in their beds in my old home, all except two. My Dad was finishing up the evening’s to do’s, and my brother the evening do nothings. Dad would have gone to bed much earlier than my brother, but something happened that kept them both up far longer than either one would have wished. Thunderously loud chimes echoed throughout the house. Someone ringed the doorbell and hard. My brother an adolescent not at all inclined to answering doors continued reclining in front of the T.V. set. This was not to last long since my Dad soon appeared before him and asked a loaded question.

“Son, you got your shoes on?”

Translated from Dad speech this means.

“Are you prepared to do something outdoors for me? “

My brother knew whatever it was would be unpleasant, but he obeyed just the same. A man on the young side of being old was at our door. He was drunk and in need of a way home. My town has no buses or cabs at night, and the man had no phone numbers or addresses in his alcohol soaked memory. All he was able express was his earnest plea to get to his daughter’s home for Christmas.

Soon, my Dad and brother were driving across town following the man’s drunkenly babbled directions. Several hours later, they came to apartments that matched the man’s description. Holding their breath they knocked on the only lit door. To my Dad’s great relief it was the right one. The woman inside was also relieved to see her Father safe. He had been delivered to her by men that did not even know his name.

Why? I asked. Why were they willing to be a midnight cab for a complete stranger? My Dad explained to me, at the time, about ‘loving thy neighbor’, but I was not satisfied. Even if they felt sympathy, how did they motivate themselves to go out into the frigid cold night, and on a holiday? My Dad smiled and said that the ‘how’ was the same as the ‘why’. Love is why and how you do the right thing.

Now because of the lesson of that day, I am able to awaken several times a night to a screaming baby and still be able to handle my toddler in the morning. I can rub my spouses’ back even when I do not care to do so. I can eat a veggie snack instead of a bowl of ice cream.

This love I have learned is stronger than circumstances. It does not need ideal weather. It does not watch the clock. This kind of love does not require coffee to get started. (However helpful it may be.) It only needs the will to wield it. This love will continue to give me the strength to care for my children as they grow. It helps to keep me healthy. It gives me inner joy and peace. This is the love that never fails.
(I wrote this two years ago, but it still holds true.)

Magic Twin Brother

I love fairy tales. I enjoy fantasy. I wish so much that the wood between the worlds existed, and that I could find a way there. If you don't know, the wood between the worlds is a reference to C.S. Lewis' book The Magician's Nephew. In that story, two children enter a world between worlds. In that place one can go to any reality. (If it exists.) It is from that place, Digory and Polly find Narnia. Narnia is a world filled with tree spirits, talking animals, flying horses, unicorns, mermaids, and many magical beings. Imagine, if the wood between the woods were real, one could go to Fantasia, Middle Earth, or Earthsea. Fantastic!
I grew up in an old large Victorian era house. It had a grand staircase and secret compartments. The neighborhood had quite a bit of crime, but I am so glad I grew up there. The house had this strange habit of random old stuff appearing in it. Once I found a World War I medal. My father had no idea where it came from. Once I found a pair of Mary Jane shoes. No one had a clue where it came from. This happened quite often over the years that my family lived there. We never found out where any of the mystery items originated.
One day, when I was a preteen, a large jigsaw puzzle appeared. Inside the box was a picture of the puzzle finished. It was a colorful jungle like scene with a lion. It wasn't a fantastical scene but something about it seemed special. The puzzle had several hundred pieces and the card board box soon broke and scattered the pieces to oblivion. All I had left, after my Mom tossed the remaining pieces was the display picture. I would stare and stare at that picture. It had a river winding through the center of it. My gut or my imagination kept telling me I needed to follow that river, but how could I? It was just a picture, and judging by the look of the lion not a picture of this world. Time passed and the nagging thought of following that river pressed inside my head. I recalled The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and how Lucy and Edmund entered Narnia through a painting. So I placed the picture on the floor of my bedroom and jumped. My bare feet smacked the cardboard. I sat on my bed, and pondered to myself. I thought that if interdimensional travel were actually possible it would have to be kept a secret. Perhaps, I needed to pledge secrecy in order for the portal to work. Therefore, I made a pledge. If I discovered a portal to another world, I'd not only keep it secret, but if need be I would allow my memory of it to be wiped clean. After that pledge, I took another jump, and landed squarely on the picture. However, that time my feet feet felt strangely warm, and my head a little foggy. I had this vague recollection of someone, someone like a brother.
I soon put aside my failed attempt at a magical adventure, and along with it the picture. Years went by and I met a young man. He loved fairy tales, and he loved me. Let the reader understand, neither one of us had the slightest romantic feelings for the other, but instead a sincere bond based in no prior knowledge of the other. One day, we were out eating together with friends, when he started talking about when he was kid he looked for a portal to another world. He explained to us how his search was fruitless. Until one day, he declared that if he could just have one adventure, he would make a deal. I finished his sentence for him. The deal was trading the memory of the journey for the journey itself. He realized that I had done the same. We already believed each other to be twin soul siblings. This cemented that idea.
Today, we still are close, although we live far apart. He knows when I am sad and when I am happy, just as I know for him. We might not have ever gone to a alternative world together but our friendship is definitely magic.