Two new short stories

Mar 25, 2008 11:18



It’s been a while since I've posted any writing, but I had these two short pieces that needed some fame. The first, "Bottle of Dreams" was done under the prompt "Write about an invented thing, 500 words." The second, "Mariana" is under the prompt "Write about an invented person, 500 words.“ Well, it started out as a person, and it really is about a person, just not the one you think. With this one I was really trying to "paint a picture", no pun intended. I hope you like them!

The Bottle of Dreams

Come close, little children, I’ve a story to tell, of magical fairies and bottles with spells. So sit down, come near, and listen real well, for the story of the bottle of dreams is not often known. Did you ever wonder how your dreams came to be? Of the wonderful, beautiful, things that you see? What about your nightmares, those terrors of fright, how do they get to you, in the middle of night? Come close, and I’ll tell you, children of man, of this beautiful bottle filled up with sand.

There is a bottle, far off somewhere, filled with the most magical things. It is purple, it is blue, it is orange and white and pink. A rainbow without the rain, sunshine without the sun, off in old man Sleep’s tent, there is a bottle full of fairy dust. It does not make you sneeze, or make you fly, or make you sing. It does not make you beautiful, or do any special thing. You can drop it and shake it and heat it all day, but when night time falls, he will have it anyway. Far, far away in a land so long ago, this bottle was there, shining like sunlit snow. And old man Sleep knew that it was a gift, so he took it and it traveled with him, all over the world. When the moon is out, you cannot get it, and in day it is invincible, this bottle of the rainbow. It sparkles, it shines it does many a thing, but none of them do anything. So what is it for, this bottle of dust, why was it there, so long ago?

A fairy named Dwaasa sat in her tree, wondering, pondering, many a thing, dreaming and laughing, all of good things, love and happiness and plants and animals, she dreamed. And along came Verschrik, fairy of fright, down upon Dwaasa, in evening’s light. She screamed and she jumped, and out of her hair, flew fairy dust, with plenty to spare. And into a magical bottle, it flew just then, though the Dwaasa and Verschrik were completely unaware. But what nobody knew, yes nobody, I said, was that some dust also flew out of Verschrik’s black head. And so mixed in that beautiful, sparkling dust there is also some black, like soot, in that sand.

And so old man Sleep, carries it 'round, always flying, never stepping on ground, and sprinkles his sleep dust, all over town. And when they fall asleep, the bottle will shine, and all of its dreams will turn into yours and mine. On the bottle, a spell is cast, you see, which makes it give away every one of its dreams. Most dreams are good; some dreams are bad, just like the color of the sand.

And so there you have it, children of man, that which is the story of that magical bottle of sand. So next time old man Sleep sprinkles sleep dust all over your head; remember the bottle and all of its wonders, yes?

Her name is Mariana

She sits at her window, staring, all day, I’m not sure she ever leaves. I’ve seen her there, in the window pane, staring, staring at me. I’ll never be sure why the beautiful young lady sits there, just watching. Sometimes I wonder if she’s alright in the head, but she smiles at me and I know she is well. I don’t know much about her, but there’s never been a day when that window is without her. And her name is Mariana.

She has eyes that have seen everything, yet nothing, all the same. With pupils that seem not black, but ocean blue. Around her pupils, ever watching, are crystals of cornflower blue. A toped by her eyes are her lashes, long and dark, never blinking even a touch. Her beautiful eyes are watching me. And her name is Mariana.

Across one of her beautiful eyes is a strand of her waist-length chestnut hair. It flows and curves and seems to fall---well, everywhere. It shines in the sun when I walk by at day and glows in the moonlight at dark. It seems to me like the bark of an oak, strong and steady and complex, beautiful in every way. Her hair captivates me. And her name is Mariana.

Her rose-tinted cheeks rest in her palms, pale and beautiful and soft, and her smile brings a gift to the world, dimples bloom in the hills of tinted frost. Her smile is the most beautiful thing that I have ever seen. She glows when her soft pink lips spread in happiness. I’ve never seen a more joyous thing, yet when I see it, somehow I am sad. Perhaps it is because of her unknown purpose, but I doubt I’ll ever know. And her name is Mariana.

I watch her in the window, held by her mystery, her beauty. How someone could just leave her here, unknown, forgotten? How she must feel to be left there, staring out the window all day. What is she waiting for, I wonder? Why does she sit? The many things she must see. And her name is Mariana.

I brush my fingertips over the glass, sure this is the day. I whisper to her softly “Don’t worry, I’ll take you away.” When I walk home that day she is there in the window, waiting for me. I push open the glass door; the bell rings a welcoming tune. Today is the day. I walk over to the clerk, my stride is firm, and she will be mine. “And what is it for you today, young lady?” He says to me. I point to her, I can only see her back, brown and plain, but he knows the one. He walks over to her, picks her up, and brings her over to me. He places her in the paper bag and says “Wonderful choice. We’ve had this painting for over a year now. It’ll be strange, that window without her. Oh, I almost forgot, her name is Mariana.”

Ta-ta for now!

Jessi

shorts, writing

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