(no subject)
This is what I've worked out so far with my fairytale. I had fun writing this, especially the flowers since they're so pretentious. Like the other fairytale, this is a fusion of everything I've ever read, and with influences like Oscar Wilde, I've tried to somewhat depict society (not sure if I succeeded). They should follow with a small amount of annotations at the bottom, since I have the deepest fear of being persecuted or misunderstood. XD
*********
Long, long ago, there lived a young couple who had a small garden. Every day, they tended to it but they longed and longed for a child. One day, the woman was placing seeds in the soft soil when she suddenly felt a wave of sorrow sweep through her. Tears trickled down her face and she buried a small watermelon seed before allowing herself to pause.
Her tears fell onto the dark ground, despite the fact that she was trying to stop them with her hands. She was angry with herself. Salt water would never do for the plants, she told herself. But then, to her surprise, a small tendril of green sprouted out from the ground. She sat back, astounded, as the tendril grew and grew. In a matter of minutes, it began to sprout leaves. More vines grew and coated the ground and finally, there was a fine, full grown watermelon before the young woman, larger than any she had ever seen or harvested.
She looked at it, then down at her hands, worried that her fingers would spontaneously grow, as the watermelon had. She uttered a small shriek and covered her mouth.
Far away, in a remote corner of the garden where a lonely marrow grew, a disgruntled voice snapped, “Oh, I do wish the woman wasn’t quite as stupid.”
A rose leaned against the fence and preened, stroking its silky pink petals with its leaves. “Yes, quite so,” he agreed. “Quite a lovely woman. Wonderful disposition. But nothing up there, if you know what I mean. And I say that in the nicest way possible.”
“The only time you ever say anything nice is when it’s about yourself!” a sweetpea burst out, then lapsed back into a blushing silence, astounded at her own boldness. The rose did not seem to hear, but he pushed his leaves behind his stems and the sweetpea went mauve at the sight of a line of small, prickly thorns.
“Don’t be a bully,” the marrow warned, going slightly yellow.
“Or you’ll what?” the rose fleered. “Uproot yourself and eat me?”
“You really shouldn’t tempt people like that,” the hyacinth moaned mournfully from her perch. The hyacinth was a very depressing sort of flower and no one really liked to talk to her for very long for fear that they should wither.
There was a silence, interrupted only by the susurrus of the willow tree nearby as his numerous hands chased after one another. Then there was an explosion of sound as the garden erupted into argument.
“Listen to the hyacinth!” a geranium called.
“The marrow’s right! You shouldn’t be such a bully!” a gladiolus roared.
“Yes! That’s right!” the hydrangea yelled enthusiastically.
“It’s alright! Really!” The sweetpea strained her voice to be heard, rather touched.
“The rose didn’t do anything!” the ivy cawed. She had always been a steadfast friend and proponent of the rose and rather admired his velveteen petals. “He put his leaves behind his stem. That was all!”
“You have no proof that the rose did anything,” the begonia said thoughtfully.
“Yes! That’s right!” the hydrangea shouted again. He wasn’t of much brain, but liked to be involved. He was very perseverant and always stuck by what he said, even if the matter did not apply anymore. “That’s right! That’s right!” he repeated with even more zeal.
“Do please stop arguing,” the lisianthus murmured quietly. “The watermelon is speaking and I want to hear what it has to say, please.”
All the plants in the garden quieted. Every one of them had always liked the lisianthus. She was of a very quiet disposition and was very wise. As well, it had thus far been unheard of for a newly grown plant to be able to speak. The marrow whispered to the sweetpea that this watermelon must be quite exceptional.
“Do not be afraid,” the watermelon said. It would have grinned if it could have. The flowers had not missed very much at all amidst their arguing, as the watermelon was such a long-winded fruit that it had spent the past five minutes explaining itself and its purpose. “I was born from your tears of sadness and your care. And I have always liked the taste of salt*.
“Sitting in your living room, a mere seed, I have heard your lamentations. I had determined then that I would grow as soon as I could and provide you with everything you could ever want. For you, I shall grant your wishes. For you see, my dear, sweet lady, I do love you and I shall strive to make you happy.”
“It is an eloquent watermelon,” the rose whispered in the ear of the ivy.
“But it talks far too much,” replied his friend.
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” the begonia quoted.
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment and a slow smile spread across her face. She clasped her hands together and was beginning to open her mouth for her first request when the watermelon stopped her with a slight rustle of his vine.
“I know how much you have longed for a child. But I pray you, please stay that wish until I am grown a little more. I shall tell you when the time has come, but until then, please be patient. But for today, what may please you? I will give you a chest of jewels, should you so wish it. In it, I shall store glorious, fat rubies and sparkling sapphire eyes. If emeralds are to your liking, I shall put in it the eggs of a large pelican, come all the way from the Green City of Oz. Smooth, sparkling opals shall you wear in your hair and they will always complement the shades of chestnut that you have.
“I will give you a sparkling urn made of solid gold. You shall tip it onto the floor to find shining coins of silver and platinum. You shall never want for money, for you will be richer than all the cardinals put together and even the Pope himself. Your husband and yourself will grow fat with all the grand food that you can buy, and you shall have servants to wait upon you at every hour of the day!”
The watermelon stopped and gathered its wits, for it had quite spent them on filling the young woman’s head with shining images. The purple tulip leant back against the fence and steadied herself, one leaf wiping at her petals. She had always been fond of the finer things in life and her favourite sight was anything that sparkled in the sun. By her side, her friend, the calla lily, swooned.
“So what wish might I grant you?” the watermelon inquired.
The woman deliberated over the matter for a few minutes. “I’m afraid I don’t want riches or jewels,” she said slowly. The tulip and the calla lily froze and stared at her in disbelief. The two flowers opened their mouths to utter shouts of severe shock, but they were quelled by the hard stare that was fixed on them by the old marrow.
“Not until we have a child, at least,” the woman continued. “Riches and fine clothes can only spoil him and we want to make sure that he is brought up to be a fine young man.”
“Yes, but-” the watermelon began, albeit sadly, but forgot what he was about to say, as though there had been some kind of magic upon his memory which dissolved all words that were meant to be hidden.
The young woman did not seem to notice. “But my husband and I would like not to worry over our own livelihood. And yet we love our own garden,” the woman said. “We should like a larger space of land than this, with good soil that will always produce much.”
“It is granted,” the watermelon said solemnly. “Look you to tomorrow and you shall have it.”
The woman thanked the watermelon graciously and then, full of anticipation, continued her planting. One cannot, after all, rely on everything a watermelon says.
*For it was, indeed, a vampire watermelon
*********
The days went by quickly for the young couple. The young man was astounded to see his garden so much larger than when he had first left for the market two days ago. At first, he had not believed his wife when she had told him about her encounter with the watermelon, for he was a man with much common sense. It was not until much later that he and his wife went out into the garden to observe the magical watermelon.
Spring turned to summer and the couple wished for a nice holiday by the seaside and for someone to provide for the needs of their plants during their absence. The next day, they found a horse and cart waiting for them, as well as a floating watering can. They thanked the watermelon dearly before they set off, and the young woman gave him a special blend of fresh and salt water. The watermelon relished it and was extremely grateful.
When the young couple came back, healthy from the sea air, they began again with their routine of showering their plants with water. However, in their absence, the marrow, who had been growing larger and older, but also yellower, had withered away. All the flowers gathered around and mourned him.
“He had never been a very happy fellow,” the rose said as a whisper of tears fell from his face. “But he was always the voice of reason.”
“He stood by all of us to the very end, even though he was always so grumpy,” the sweetpea wailed, unabashed. The purple tulip wrapped her long leaves around the sweetpea and pressed her against her stem to comfort her.
But plants are used to deaths and mysterious disappearances. When, a few months later, a new marrow was born, all the plants bullied it terribly, but they loved it as much as they had the old marrow. By summer, the new marrow had grown quite large and fat, and was beginning to become just as disgruntled as the old marrow had been. The plants were satisfied. It felt as though the old marrow had never left in the first place. All living things are averse to change. The sweetpea cuddled up against the new marrow and they watched as the brown set into the hands of the willow tree.
*********
"Fantastical"- implied in the way that the story is not fantastic, but that it is highly improbable and hard to believe. The fairytale is about the birth of one of my characters, actually. It might continue on.
Writing fairytales- for me, I usually end up writing a sentence like "It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time", and if I'm lucky, it becomes a real story. When I write fairytales, I infuse them with everything I've ever read (this one being somewhat influenced by Oscar Wilde and Hans Christian Andersen in the sense that I have talking flowers) and it comes out as a (semi) original story.
Flowers- I tried to keep the flowers true to their meanings. For instance, the hydrangea means "persistence" and the lisianthus represents "reason and wisdom".
Watermelon- the magical watermelon was originally supposed to be a marrow, but I didn't exactly know much about marrows. Though the deciding factor for me was whether or not a marrow had vines. XD
Willow- I've always liked willow trees, but to me, the willow somewhat reminds me of the Hindu god Shiva, because of his arms
"When [...] a new marrow was born, all the plants bullied it terribly" & "All living things are averse to change"- Like much of the influence I received, I tried to somewhat make this like a depiction of a society. I'm not sure if I succeeded.
*********
Afterword: I posted this up on HEX is the Ravenclaw Common Room. So far, not many people have taken notice of it, but there have been some good reviews. Two people have told me that I should get this published, but I'm not sure. On the one hand, I think it would be brilliant, but on the other, I'm not sure if I would make it, and I think that's what I'm most afraid of. If I really DID get published, though, it would be fantastic, since I would know that I was good enough (which I'm really not sure about. I get the feeling my writing isn't at all adequate), as well as the fact that I might have some extra money to spend on my university education.
Currently, I'm thinking of sending it to a newspaper or something, but I can't quite be sure unless someone whose judgment I REALLY trust recommends I do it as well. Sometimes I wish society wouldn't feel like they needed to be ever so nice all the time. =( It is terribly deceiving.
EDIT: Maybe I should consider showing this to my English teacher and see what she says...?
*********
Long, long ago, there lived a young couple who had a small garden. Every day, they tended to it but they longed and longed for a child. One day, the woman was placing seeds in the soft soil when she suddenly felt a wave of sorrow sweep through her. Tears trickled down her face and she buried a small watermelon seed before allowing herself to pause.
Her tears fell onto the dark ground, despite the fact that she was trying to stop them with her hands. She was angry with herself. Salt water would never do for the plants, she told herself. But then, to her surprise, a small tendril of green sprouted out from the ground. She sat back, astounded, as the tendril grew and grew. In a matter of minutes, it began to sprout leaves. More vines grew and coated the ground and finally, there was a fine, full grown watermelon before the young woman, larger than any she had ever seen or harvested.
She looked at it, then down at her hands, worried that her fingers would spontaneously grow, as the watermelon had. She uttered a small shriek and covered her mouth.
Far away, in a remote corner of the garden where a lonely marrow grew, a disgruntled voice snapped, “Oh, I do wish the woman wasn’t quite as stupid.”
A rose leaned against the fence and preened, stroking its silky pink petals with its leaves. “Yes, quite so,” he agreed. “Quite a lovely woman. Wonderful disposition. But nothing up there, if you know what I mean. And I say that in the nicest way possible.”
“The only time you ever say anything nice is when it’s about yourself!” a sweetpea burst out, then lapsed back into a blushing silence, astounded at her own boldness. The rose did not seem to hear, but he pushed his leaves behind his stems and the sweetpea went mauve at the sight of a line of small, prickly thorns.
“Don’t be a bully,” the marrow warned, going slightly yellow.
“Or you’ll what?” the rose fleered. “Uproot yourself and eat me?”
“You really shouldn’t tempt people like that,” the hyacinth moaned mournfully from her perch. The hyacinth was a very depressing sort of flower and no one really liked to talk to her for very long for fear that they should wither.
There was a silence, interrupted only by the susurrus of the willow tree nearby as his numerous hands chased after one another. Then there was an explosion of sound as the garden erupted into argument.
“Listen to the hyacinth!” a geranium called.
“The marrow’s right! You shouldn’t be such a bully!” a gladiolus roared.
“Yes! That’s right!” the hydrangea yelled enthusiastically.
“It’s alright! Really!” The sweetpea strained her voice to be heard, rather touched.
“The rose didn’t do anything!” the ivy cawed. She had always been a steadfast friend and proponent of the rose and rather admired his velveteen petals. “He put his leaves behind his stem. That was all!”
“You have no proof that the rose did anything,” the begonia said thoughtfully.
“Yes! That’s right!” the hydrangea shouted again. He wasn’t of much brain, but liked to be involved. He was very perseverant and always stuck by what he said, even if the matter did not apply anymore. “That’s right! That’s right!” he repeated with even more zeal.
“Do please stop arguing,” the lisianthus murmured quietly. “The watermelon is speaking and I want to hear what it has to say, please.”
All the plants in the garden quieted. Every one of them had always liked the lisianthus. She was of a very quiet disposition and was very wise. As well, it had thus far been unheard of for a newly grown plant to be able to speak. The marrow whispered to the sweetpea that this watermelon must be quite exceptional.
“Do not be afraid,” the watermelon said. It would have grinned if it could have. The flowers had not missed very much at all amidst their arguing, as the watermelon was such a long-winded fruit that it had spent the past five minutes explaining itself and its purpose. “I was born from your tears of sadness and your care. And I have always liked the taste of salt*.
“Sitting in your living room, a mere seed, I have heard your lamentations. I had determined then that I would grow as soon as I could and provide you with everything you could ever want. For you, I shall grant your wishes. For you see, my dear, sweet lady, I do love you and I shall strive to make you happy.”
“It is an eloquent watermelon,” the rose whispered in the ear of the ivy.
“But it talks far too much,” replied his friend.
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” the begonia quoted.
The woman looked thoughtful for a moment and a slow smile spread across her face. She clasped her hands together and was beginning to open her mouth for her first request when the watermelon stopped her with a slight rustle of his vine.
“I know how much you have longed for a child. But I pray you, please stay that wish until I am grown a little more. I shall tell you when the time has come, but until then, please be patient. But for today, what may please you? I will give you a chest of jewels, should you so wish it. In it, I shall store glorious, fat rubies and sparkling sapphire eyes. If emeralds are to your liking, I shall put in it the eggs of a large pelican, come all the way from the Green City of Oz. Smooth, sparkling opals shall you wear in your hair and they will always complement the shades of chestnut that you have.
“I will give you a sparkling urn made of solid gold. You shall tip it onto the floor to find shining coins of silver and platinum. You shall never want for money, for you will be richer than all the cardinals put together and even the Pope himself. Your husband and yourself will grow fat with all the grand food that you can buy, and you shall have servants to wait upon you at every hour of the day!”
The watermelon stopped and gathered its wits, for it had quite spent them on filling the young woman’s head with shining images. The purple tulip leant back against the fence and steadied herself, one leaf wiping at her petals. She had always been fond of the finer things in life and her favourite sight was anything that sparkled in the sun. By her side, her friend, the calla lily, swooned.
“So what wish might I grant you?” the watermelon inquired.
The woman deliberated over the matter for a few minutes. “I’m afraid I don’t want riches or jewels,” she said slowly. The tulip and the calla lily froze and stared at her in disbelief. The two flowers opened their mouths to utter shouts of severe shock, but they were quelled by the hard stare that was fixed on them by the old marrow.
“Not until we have a child, at least,” the woman continued. “Riches and fine clothes can only spoil him and we want to make sure that he is brought up to be a fine young man.”
“Yes, but-” the watermelon began, albeit sadly, but forgot what he was about to say, as though there had been some kind of magic upon his memory which dissolved all words that were meant to be hidden.
The young woman did not seem to notice. “But my husband and I would like not to worry over our own livelihood. And yet we love our own garden,” the woman said. “We should like a larger space of land than this, with good soil that will always produce much.”
“It is granted,” the watermelon said solemnly. “Look you to tomorrow and you shall have it.”
The woman thanked the watermelon graciously and then, full of anticipation, continued her planting. One cannot, after all, rely on everything a watermelon says.
*For it was, indeed, a vampire watermelon
*********
The days went by quickly for the young couple. The young man was astounded to see his garden so much larger than when he had first left for the market two days ago. At first, he had not believed his wife when she had told him about her encounter with the watermelon, for he was a man with much common sense. It was not until much later that he and his wife went out into the garden to observe the magical watermelon.
Spring turned to summer and the couple wished for a nice holiday by the seaside and for someone to provide for the needs of their plants during their absence. The next day, they found a horse and cart waiting for them, as well as a floating watering can. They thanked the watermelon dearly before they set off, and the young woman gave him a special blend of fresh and salt water. The watermelon relished it and was extremely grateful.
When the young couple came back, healthy from the sea air, they began again with their routine of showering their plants with water. However, in their absence, the marrow, who had been growing larger and older, but also yellower, had withered away. All the flowers gathered around and mourned him.
“He had never been a very happy fellow,” the rose said as a whisper of tears fell from his face. “But he was always the voice of reason.”
“He stood by all of us to the very end, even though he was always so grumpy,” the sweetpea wailed, unabashed. The purple tulip wrapped her long leaves around the sweetpea and pressed her against her stem to comfort her.
But plants are used to deaths and mysterious disappearances. When, a few months later, a new marrow was born, all the plants bullied it terribly, but they loved it as much as they had the old marrow. By summer, the new marrow had grown quite large and fat, and was beginning to become just as disgruntled as the old marrow had been. The plants were satisfied. It felt as though the old marrow had never left in the first place. All living things are averse to change. The sweetpea cuddled up against the new marrow and they watched as the brown set into the hands of the willow tree.
*********
"Fantastical"- implied in the way that the story is not fantastic, but that it is highly improbable and hard to believe. The fairytale is about the birth of one of my characters, actually. It might continue on.
Writing fairytales- for me, I usually end up writing a sentence like "It was a dark and stormy night" or "Once upon a time", and if I'm lucky, it becomes a real story. When I write fairytales, I infuse them with everything I've ever read (this one being somewhat influenced by Oscar Wilde and Hans Christian Andersen in the sense that I have talking flowers) and it comes out as a (semi) original story.
Flowers- I tried to keep the flowers true to their meanings. For instance, the hydrangea means "persistence" and the lisianthus represents "reason and wisdom".
Watermelon- the magical watermelon was originally supposed to be a marrow, but I didn't exactly know much about marrows. Though the deciding factor for me was whether or not a marrow had vines. XD
Willow- I've always liked willow trees, but to me, the willow somewhat reminds me of the Hindu god Shiva, because of his arms
"When [...] a new marrow was born, all the plants bullied it terribly" & "All living things are averse to change"- Like much of the influence I received, I tried to somewhat make this like a depiction of a society. I'm not sure if I succeeded.
*********
Afterword: I posted this up on HEX is the Ravenclaw Common Room. So far, not many people have taken notice of it, but there have been some good reviews. Two people have told me that I should get this published, but I'm not sure. On the one hand, I think it would be brilliant, but on the other, I'm not sure if I would make it, and I think that's what I'm most afraid of. If I really DID get published, though, it would be fantastic, since I would know that I was good enough (which I'm really not sure about. I get the feeling my writing isn't at all adequate), as well as the fact that I might have some extra money to spend on my university education.
Currently, I'm thinking of sending it to a newspaper or something, but I can't quite be sure unless someone whose judgment I REALLY trust recommends I do it as well. Sometimes I wish society wouldn't feel like they needed to be ever so nice all the time. =( It is terribly deceiving.
EDIT: Maybe I should consider showing this to my English teacher and see what she says...?