knickknack [1b/?]
anonymous
January 8 2012, 00:42:35 UTC
By his seventh birthday, Alfred had inherited his grandfather’s mild obsession with war- not because he was particularly violent (aside from the occasional crying fit) but because he liked the idea of having a large group of friends that would fight to the death for their leader. In the world of grown-ups, soldiers are not necessarily the ‘friend’ of their commander, but sheltered Alfred didn’t know that.
So, on his eighth birthday, Alfred obtained something special from his grandfather’s attic.
The attic has always been a wonderland, filled with gorgeous, priceless items of furniture and decoration that his grandfather collected over the years on his travels with the military. Alfred is not allowed to spend time in the attic by himself, and he’s rarely ever allowed even if he’s accompanied by someone, be it a maid or butler of maybe his grandparents themselves.
“The time has come,” his grandfather had said, eyes shining, hands holding out a box wrapped in glossy silver foil, “for you to have this, Alfred, lad. It was my favourite playset when I was small and it was your father’s when he was growing up, too.”
Alfred’s father placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder at the statement, and Alfred gave him an eager grin before returning his attention to the item in his grandfather’s grip. His grandfather handed it over, and thus Alfred gained an important part of his family’s heritage -- a set of ten finely-crafted wooden soldiers. It was something he’d wanted for a long time, but had never thought to ask for, too distracted by all the other things he’d request and receive on a whim.
He hugged his grandparents, and his parents, and spent an obligatory hour in the company of children from the village before taking his prize to his designated room at the end of the party to lose himself in the fantasy of having new, loyal companions.
He grew bored of them after a while, until one of them showed signs of sentience.The soldiers don‘t look heavy and they‘re not exactly difficult to hold, but they’re certainly not hollow, as Alfred discovered when he first took them from their holding-box. The box is an emerald thing with gold-leaf decoration, matching the pattern of the wallpaper in Alfred‘s bedroom, and Alfred suspects his room was once his grandfather‘s room because of it. He doesn’t use the box anymore, though, instead keeping it inside his wardrobe and leaving the soldiers out on the shelf, so they can watch over him when he sleeps.
They are worn things, shabby from being passed through the Jones family for at least three generations, but Alfred’s mother always repaints them whenever they need a touch-up. Therefore, they look brand new, aside from a few splintered chips here and there on their bases.
But they feel aged against the soft palms of Alfred‘s child-gentle hands, and Alfred likes that particular aspect about them more than all others. He likes to imagine that they’re highly-trained adult army men, ones that will be able to spring perfectly into action whenever Alfred calls on them, chasing away the monsters that plague his nightmares and protecting him from the dangers that lie beyond the mansion‘s gates.
Nine of them will protect him, anyway. The tenth one, the scowling one with immersing eyes, is the only soldier of the set that Alfred doesn’t trust.
So, on his eighth birthday, Alfred obtained something special from his grandfather’s attic.
The attic has always been a wonderland, filled with gorgeous, priceless items of furniture and decoration that his grandfather collected over the years on his travels with the military. Alfred is not allowed to spend time in the attic by himself, and he’s rarely ever allowed even if he’s accompanied by someone, be it a maid or butler of maybe his grandparents themselves.
“The time has come,” his grandfather had said, eyes shining, hands holding out a box wrapped in glossy silver foil, “for you to have this, Alfred, lad. It was my favourite playset when I was small and it was your father’s when he was growing up, too.”
Alfred’s father placed a hand on Alfred’s shoulder at the statement, and Alfred gave him an eager grin before returning his attention to the item in his grandfather’s grip. His grandfather handed it over, and thus Alfred gained an important part of his family’s heritage -- a set of ten finely-crafted wooden soldiers. It was something he’d wanted for a long time, but had never thought to ask for, too distracted by all the other things he’d request and receive on a whim.
He hugged his grandparents, and his parents, and spent an obligatory hour in the company of children from the village before taking his prize to his designated room at the end of the party to lose himself in the fantasy of having new, loyal companions.
He grew bored of them after a while, until one of them showed signs of sentience.The soldiers don‘t look heavy and they‘re not exactly difficult to hold, but they’re certainly not hollow, as Alfred discovered when he first took them from their holding-box. The box is an emerald thing with gold-leaf decoration, matching the pattern of the wallpaper in Alfred‘s bedroom, and Alfred suspects his room was once his grandfather‘s room because of it. He doesn’t use the box anymore, though, instead keeping it inside his wardrobe and leaving the soldiers out on the shelf, so they can watch over him when he sleeps.
They are worn things, shabby from being passed through the Jones family for at least three generations, but Alfred’s mother always repaints them whenever they need a touch-up. Therefore, they look brand new, aside from a few splintered chips here and there on their bases.
But they feel aged against the soft palms of Alfred‘s child-gentle hands, and Alfred likes that particular aspect about them more than all others. He likes to imagine that they’re highly-trained adult army men, ones that will be able to spring perfectly into action whenever Alfred calls on them, chasing away the monsters that plague his nightmares and protecting him from the dangers that lie beyond the mansion‘s gates.
Nine of them will protect him, anyway. The tenth one, the scowling one with immersing eyes, is the only soldier of the set that Alfred doesn’t trust.
Reply
Leave a comment