True story!

[dark fuschia]

Well, ok, I have a bump on my head from looking through a keyhole, you think I'm silly? So do I. Let me start from the beginning. It was all the gardener you see, his name is Fred* and I am terribly shy of him. He was doing something or other out there, in the back yard, under the tree with pink blossoms, falling down around his boots, and I had to tell him to clean out the shed, a message from my mother. I stood in the kitchen building up my courage, swallowing hard, trying to think of what I would say,
"Fred, can you grab the rubbish in the shed?"
"Fred can you grab the rubbish, in the shed?"
"Fred can you grab the rubbish in the shed?"

So many intonations! So many ways of making myself sound awkward and dumb. So I ask my brother to tell him, "Eric, please tell the gardener to grab the rubbish in the shed, I'm shy of him."

Eric jumps to the rescue! Always happy to be of assistance is my suave and not shy brother. He stomps out the backdoor closing it behind him, and I hover near, overcome by the terrible urge to peek, to see how the suave and not shy of the world operate among themselves. But Fred will see if I open the door, so I look through the keyhole, and at that instant - WHACK! My brother opens it from the other side on his return and I tumble down, uncertain whether to laugh or yelp with pain. I manage a mixture of both, and explain to my brother I was peeking through the key hole. He laughs at me and we laugh together.

THE END


* his name isn't really Fred but I can't help thinking of him that way

[Anita Blake]

lol, that's cute. :) and funny. but... i can't see you being shy of anybody.... :D

[dark fuschia]

hehe yeah lots of people have been saying that lately, I think I tend to over-compensate for being terrified of people in the hopes no one will notice how terrified I am :umm:

[dark fuschia]

Long ago by the sea, in a town of docks and fishermen, there lived a young woman in a quiet house that overlooked the bay. She had long black hair that fell to her waist in soft and gentle waves, and her eyes were such a rare colour of blue that often people were struck to momentary silence by their beauty. Many of the townsfolk disaproved of her living alone, but what could they do? Her husband had gone off in search of his fortune on a great ship a year ago and still he had not returned. The woman's name was Sylvia and every morning she would leave her house to help sell bread at the Bakers. It was the only time she did not spend looking out to sea, her vibrant blue eyes hopful and alert for signs of ships, for there was no window in the white walled kitchen of the Bakery. The Bakers wife thought it a great shame that such a pretty lass be left alone in such a way, but the Baker disagreed and said all men must make their fortune. So the Bakers wife tossed the bread sticks about angrily and said, "There are plenty of fish on our own shores and she is such a pretty and good-hearted lass. That is fortune enough for any man!"

"But there is gold to the north, and silk to the east!" said the Baker, a lost and wondering look in his eye, "Ahh if only I had done the same when I too was young, perhaps I would not have rise before the sun to roll the dough."

His wife raised an eyebrow, "If you had done the same, your wife would not have waited for you!" they shared a laugh and a floury kiss.

When the afternoon came Sylvia would always return to her house and sit in her chair by the window, where she could be sure to see the sea bound horizon. There she would knit socks for her husband and sing songs and then she would read tales of distant lands or history books, but never for long were her bright eyes turned from the ocean which stretched out beneath her window.

Then when the sun set, leaving the sea colourless and all detail on the edge of sight, she would put down her book and remember the first time he had kissed her, and she would sing a song so sad and aching that any who came near felt their hearts try to burst in their chest. Sometimes when the moon was full and shining on the waves like countless tiny candles, she would speak in a whisper to the air, "My husband, all I want is to see your smiling face again." Then she would sleep until morning when she would rise again for another glance at the sea.

Soon another year had passed her by, and now she had many piles of socks balled up beside her chair. All the colours of the rainbow in many pretty hues and patterns. One afternoon she kicked a ball of socks across the room and said to the air, "Where are you my husband? My heart is tired of waiting and I am tired of making socks." And that night when she tried to remember the first time he had kissed her she found she could not. Tears welled in her great blue eyes, and they rolled down her cheeks silently in the moonlight.

The next morning she looked out her window with a longing that left her entire body awash with pain, but the sea was empty and ugly to her, she was so sick of it's barren face. She dressed quickly and walked to the bakery so that she arrived early for the first time ever, and here she sat down in the white walled kitchen, glad to be out of sight of the water for once.

"Sylvia lassie, the shop does not open for another hour!" said the Baker, covered in flour and surprised to see her.

"I know. But I am tired of looking to the sea." she answered.

"Tis a cruel thing not to know." said the Baker. Sylvia nodded and bit her tongue hard to stop the tears from falling down. The baker gave her a sweet cake and she remembered that her husband liked sweet cakes too.

"I'll be alright." she said, one day she would see him again.

Another year came and went, and Sylvia worked in the bakery every day and still looked to the sea every night, singing sadly and hoping, even though the Bakers wife told her it was high time she took another husband. "Please come home my husband." she whispered, "Don't be dead and gone." The night was mottled by strange clouds and the moon was at it's brightest and Sylvia found herself drawn outside. Though she wore but a thin gown she had not stopped to take her shawl from its peg, the chill air filled her with unfamiliar excitement as she walked down to the water and kicked her shoes off in the sand. "Sister moon." she said, her face upturned so that her hair was a river of shadow down her back, "You have watched me wait for three years and now I will wait no longer. I know you can look upon him just as I can look upon you, tell me where my husband is!"

"The moon does not speak Child." said a low tremourous voice from behind her. Sylvia turned and found herself looking upon the strangest old man she had ever seen: his hair hung like bedraggled clumps of seaweed and his eyes shone like iridescent pearls.

"Leave me alone." Said Sylvia primly, she was angry at this interruption, did this man think her a fool? She knew the moon couldn't speak, she just had no one else to talk to.

The old man's visage seemed to ripple like water and all at once he was standing right beside her, though she had not seen him take a step. A feeling, like that of ice running slick and sudden on all her skin came across her, and she knew at once this was a man of magic, but all her unease was lost when he whispered in her ear "But I know where your husband is."

"Oh, where is he!?" Was her exclaimed reply, and she clutched his briny hands to her own and her beautiful blue eyes quested his face for the answer in a sort of desperation.

The old man replied, "He has fallen in love with the sea, and now he wakes every morning just to look on her. He sails from port to port living a life of adventure, seeing the sights of the world. He forgot you long ago."

"No!" cried Sylvia, and her voice broke just as her heart did. She fell to her knees and began to weep, "Tell me where he is so I can find him, even if he loves me no more, I can still be near him."

The old man held out his hand and pulled her up in a kindly gesture, "You must forget him too child, for the price is high."

"But I cannot!" Said Sylvia, and all the stars above were reflected in her eyes as she looked up at The Old man. "I don't want to forget him."

The Old Man nodded, "So it often plays out child. Then I will give you the means to find him if that is your wish. I will give you a tail so you can swim whever you choose, and you will be a part of the sea that he loves, even though he can never look on you, you may look on him."

"What is the price for this?" asked Sylvia, remembering his words.

"The price is your soul." said the old man wistfully. "It may seem alot, but what is the use of a soul without love?"

Sylvia thought about it, she thought about her life of knitting socks and reading about far off lands, "You are right." said Sylvia, "You may have my soul." As soon as she said these words, all colour fled her eyes as though taken by the wind, to leave two wells of black emptiness, and she walked out into the water and the waves licked her feet, inviting her to proceed. The old mans eyes sparkled bluely for a flashing moment, and she thought she heard him laugh as she became immersed, but it might have been the sound of water rushing upon the sand. The water was cold and harsh and it pulled her far away from shore. She was not afraid of drowning though as she felt the water pumping in and out of her lungs and she felt the strength of her great tail where once her legs had been. But she was filled with fear of other things and she was sick at heart, she had to find her husband. For many days she travelled and through the shroud of her water logged hair she asked passing sea creatures if they had seen him.

"We do not concern ourselves with men." was her most common reply. One night when the moon shone her light on the waves she came to the surface, and sang her old song. A cabin boy on a nearby ship thought he dreamt it, and sighed with the beauty of his dream. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, though she came to many ports and saw many sailors, she did not catch sight of her beloved husband once. She was beginning to think that perhaps the old man had tricked her.

A whole year passed and Sylvia found herself in familiar waters, right by her old home over looking the sea. Now she was gaunt, her black hair like tangled silken rags. Her heart was broken but she still searched for him, for she was part of the sea now, and didn't her husband love the sea? One day she would look upon him again. She sung as had become her habit, her voice pure and echoeing over the waves. A light came on in her old house and there he was by the door, looking out across the sea, his face as stricken as her own.

"Sylvia!" his voice carried across the waves as he ran down to the water, but he could not see her there, just as the old man had said. She could see him. She could see him searching the sea just as she had done once long ago and she could see the shadow of anguish in his eyes. Then she knew she really had been tricked, and the old mans laughter carried on the wind to catch up with her at last. And on the shore, Sylvia's husband dashed angry tears from his eyes, it was silly, he had just imagined her voice. He had waited a year for her now, it was time he took a new wife just as the Baker's wife told him he should.





NOTE: This isn't an original story, I heard a story that went something like this when I was VERY little, like 5 years old, I never found it again, but I rememebered the crux of it so I wrote my own version.

[Anita Blake]

oh, that's so pretty. i really liked the style of it. :cry: kind of like the little mermaid, but with a twist... really really nice. *doesn't care that wendy didn't think of it originally, still thinks it's nice*

[night faerie]

wow, wendy, you write SOOO beautifully!

[Abraxas77]

That was really nice, but, umm...the ending, well it wasn't very fairy-talish like I expected, not that that's a problem, i just wasn't ready... :dozey:

i really did like it though...you really do write beautifully :)

[dark fuschia]

aww thanks very much guys :) and yah 77 it wasn't a fairy tale, it was a true story silly :D *hugs*

[Amos]

That is really a beautiful story wendy, an you wrote it so well :) I'm feeling all nostalgic and wanting for some more fairy tales now. I used to have a big book of arabian fairy tales when I was young that I'd read over and over again and I'd kill to know where it is :(

[Silver]

Wow, you write wonderfully! I love it! And I love the twist at the end!

[Alexia]

Wow Wendy - that was brilliant. Sad, but spiffy! You write well, can really take a person into the story. Thankee. :)