Response to Prose Prompt
Funny you should set up that poem prompt; I had to do a villain piece for one of my other writing communities and so happened to write a piece about Christina Rossetti's "Goblin Market." I like it, it's quite a creepy piece (and I don't normally write creepy!). The goblins really took over and used their voices, this isn't normally my writing style at all but I'm really pleased with it. So: http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/crossetti/gobmarket.html --that's the link to "Goblin Market" and here's the story! Enjoy!
We've been here for years. Years and years, and we've made a good living from the land. Our special services, our fruits, we've pulled magic from the ground, oh yes we have. And you've sampled it, and delighted, and despaired. We've seen you in your houses, in your mortal dwellings, raising the devil for our fruits, with your searching tongue, lapping sable juices for a glimpse of tomorrow. Oh, we've not from the devil, no, no. We're just agents. Merchants, businessmen, common folk dying and trying for want of coin and riddle.
Oh, those two lovely girls, those ladies, the sisters? Sisters of glory, sisters of sun, flirting with the moon and stars in their quest for life, unquenchable thirst, unflagging desire. So good so pure. So innocent and all alabaster shiny. Like apples they were, sweet juicy yellow apples, like pears and blackberries. Oooh, blackberries hanging on a vine, wanting to be gobbled up by some maw. All right, we'll stop being tricksy. Heh, tricksy mixsy, what's in the bag, stick your hand in and see.
We just wanted payment. But we ended up wasting all our lovely fruits on her, all our pretty labor, so hot under the spring sun and we're starving now. So hungry and lost. Oh, we long for summer again, long endless selling days and lingonberry nights, so hot and fat and seedily bloated. Winter now. Coldness in our hearts and the ground's frozen. So lost. The river's ice. Not even snow-apples to stem the chill.
Desperate and starving, biting the flesh from our very bones, freezing sunlight pierces our skin. We have just one more scrap of melon for you, rotten from being in the weather. It oozes and pusses, poison within, poison without, deathly green, deadly shade. Oh those wicked girls! Shall we have vengeance against them? No, no, no. Revenge aplenty is not our way. We shall just grow more lovelies in the spring. Our ruination and torment, still, those evil beauties! Oh, come buy, dear stranger, sweet seduction is ours once more in the snow! Come buy, come buy, come buy...
We've been here for years. Years and years, and we've made a good living from the land. Our special services, our fruits, we've pulled magic from the ground, oh yes we have. And you've sampled it, and delighted, and despaired. We've seen you in your houses, in your mortal dwellings, raising the devil for our fruits, with your searching tongue, lapping sable juices for a glimpse of tomorrow. Oh, we've not from the devil, no, no. We're just agents. Merchants, businessmen, common folk dying and trying for want of coin and riddle.
Oh, those two lovely girls, those ladies, the sisters? Sisters of glory, sisters of sun, flirting with the moon and stars in their quest for life, unquenchable thirst, unflagging desire. So good so pure. So innocent and all alabaster shiny. Like apples they were, sweet juicy yellow apples, like pears and blackberries. Oooh, blackberries hanging on a vine, wanting to be gobbled up by some maw. All right, we'll stop being tricksy. Heh, tricksy mixsy, what's in the bag, stick your hand in and see.
We just wanted payment. But we ended up wasting all our lovely fruits on her, all our pretty labor, so hot under the spring sun and we're starving now. So hungry and lost. Oh, we long for summer again, long endless selling days and lingonberry nights, so hot and fat and seedily bloated. Winter now. Coldness in our hearts and the ground's frozen. So lost. The river's ice. Not even snow-apples to stem the chill.
Desperate and starving, biting the flesh from our very bones, freezing sunlight pierces our skin. We have just one more scrap of melon for you, rotten from being in the weather. It oozes and pusses, poison within, poison without, deathly green, deadly shade. Oh those wicked girls! Shall we have vengeance against them? No, no, no. Revenge aplenty is not our way. We shall just grow more lovelies in the spring. Our ruination and torment, still, those evil beauties! Oh, come buy, dear stranger, sweet seduction is ours once more in the snow! Come buy, come buy, come buy...