Post by syd on Mar 28, 2012 15:54:48 GMT -6
`PLOT!
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[/center]Crackle. Crackle. Pop. Crackle. Crackle. Pop. A rhythmic chorus banished the silence as a small fire emerged in the fire place. Its tiny flames danced and its soft glow accented the attentive children huddled around it. Each one sat next to another in a sardine packed half circle while their shimmering eyes focused not on the graceful flames, but on an older woman perched in an old pine oak rocking chair. Pushing her small wire framed glasses up her nose, she smiled and began to weave a beautiful web of a tale. Though her words didn’t enclose stories of whimsical princesses, courageous princes, or even little girls on forest bound journeys. She told of a places of myth unlike the kind we know. Myth of large concrete cities, powerful steel transportation, and people with lives that were spent working strange machines. Only one thing seemed to coincide with the strange myth and children around her were their dreams. The characters dreamed to find contentment, happiness. Dreamed of discovering a happing ending much like the tales of Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, The Frog Prince, and Sleeping Beauty. Each child’s face held a different expression, one full of wonder, another sad, another amused and the last simply drowsy. Questions began to erupt from their lips in a jumbled simultaneous manner. But they were quickly hushed with a twinkling eye and a promise to reveal the answers another day. It was late and they needed to be heading home or their parents would worry. With a sigh each child scramble to their feet and one by one, the older woman bid them farewell.
Give my regards to your uncle Jack. She cooed to one. As another left she smiled and ruffled their hair. Send my love to Rose. And tell that frog legged grandfather of yours to quiet his croaking at night. She added as three children disappeared down the dusty dirt road, leaving her with the last one. The small girl smiled sheepishly scurrying down the hall and into bed. The older woman followed, tucking her in gently with a kiss to her forehead. Leaving the room, she couldn’t help but grin as the small child’s voice graced her ears.
G’night grandma Cinderelly. G’night love.------------------------
Journey to a world only existent in fairy tales and fables. A place where the most famous of famous tales got their start and found their happy ever afters. Now their children’s children are following in their footsteps as young adults, only in a place known as New York City.