STROY: LOST AND FOUND

Photo Credits: Pexels

When I hike, I feel like I am truly myself again. I am able to take a moment for myself and live fully in it. I have the choice to think or to not think.

Standing in the middle of a hilly clearing, I sucked in the fresh air like I was about to dive to the bottom of a lake. I stood there for a moment let the beauty of the view sink into my veins, powering the day’s journey. I took another breath and closed my eyes, relishing the moment. Something cold and wet nudged my hand and I opened my eyes. My dog Wilson looked up at me and then out at the forest. He enjoyed these hikes almost as much as I did and was eager to continue.

“Alright, alright, let’s go.” I said to him, scratching behind his ear. He bounded off down the steep slope, turning occasionally to make sure I was still following.

The ground crunched slightly under my heavy boots. There was a soft breeze that made the forest feel like it was breathing. The trees swayed slightly and creaked in resistance. The small animals clambered up and down the trees scampering about the forest like a group of children playing tag. Wilson would occasionally dart into a bush or behind a fallen tree trunk to chase one if they caught his eye.

Wilson stopped suddenly almost causing me to trip on him and fall over his stiffened mass. Realizing that he sensed something that I couldn’t, I slowly reached for bow and readied it silently with an arrow. Wilson’s growl was low and his hair stood up on his back.

“What is it, bud?” I whispered to him. My eyes were straining to see what it was. I took a step forward and a small movement in the bushes caught my eye. The hem of a muddied white dress with pink embroidered flowers was glowing in the sunlight. It looked familiar, it resembled a pattern on one of my sister’s dresses when they were young. Could it be…? No, I shook my head dismissing the thought.

“Hello?” he called softly, not wanting to scare whoever it was. “It’s alright, I won’t hurt you.” He said this time a little louder. He lowered his bow and slung it back over his shoulder.

Wilson looked up at me as if he was asking for permission. I nodded my head at the bush and he cautiously made his way to the other side of the bush. Laying down on his stomach, he inched towards the tiny figure with his ears back and his tail wagging. I followed my dog and saw that it was a girl. She was older than I expected of someone wearing a dress fit for a child. She must be no more than a few years younger than he was.

Wilson had nudged the arm of the girl with his nose so that he could snuggle closer and scratch him. Her body relaxed slightly and she stroked his soft fur. She froze again when she heard me step closer.

“I won’t hurt you,” I repeated, holding out my empty hands, “I promise.”

Her eyes finally met mine. Her eyes held some fear like that of a small bunny, frozen in terror of being mauled by its predator. They softened slightly when she looked down at Wilson who licked her hand, prompting her to continue scratching his favorite spot.

“His name is Wilson,” I said, dropping down on their level.

“Wilson?” she said, her voice shaky and unsure. His head lolled backwards with his tongue hanging out the side.

The girl giggled at this and then looked shyly back at me.

“I… I don’t have a name.” she said softly, her voice no more than a murmur. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice much steadier than before.

“My name’s Hunter.” I said with a smile trying to hide the confusion I felt. She smiled back awkwardly as if she didn’t remember how to.

A thought came to me suddenly and I asked, “How long have you been out here?”

She looked confused at this and shook her head.

“I don’t know.” She said eyebrows pulled together in thought.

“Would you like to come back to my home with me? Ma’s making a pot pie for supper.” I told her, hoping that she would say yes.

“Pot pie?” she repeated, sounding confused.

I nodded my head and said, “Yes, it is a pie but full of meat and vegetables. It is delicious.”

At my description her stomach growled and she tried to muffle the noise with her arms.

“Alright. I will go with you,” she said, eyes still wary.

***


When we made it back to my parent’s house, the smell of the pot pie filled my nose and made my mouth water with anticipation. I swung the door open and led the girl inside.

“Hi, Ma!” I said, loud enough for her to hear over the noise of the house.

When she turned to great me, her eyes fell on the girl beside me. The bowl she was holding slipped from her hands and shattered on the ground. My dad ran to my mother and then he too saw the girl standing beside me.

“Holy hell,” he whispered.

“Lilly? Is that you, my child?” my mother said softly as a few tears slid down her cheeks.







Author’s Note: This story was originally about a girl who was abducted when she was out for a walk in the forest by some evil creature. It kept her in its cottage far away in the forest. The hunter and his dog chased after the creature and ended up killing it. That was when he found the missing girl. She was in the same clothing she was kidnapped in three years prior. They were torn and too small for her. Although he did not recognize her, and she didn’t remember who she was before she was kidnapped, he took her back to the village and found her parents. Her parents recognized her immediately and rewarded the hunter by offering her as her wife. I kept mostly everything in this story besides the idea that she was kidnapped and I made it so that the hunter was her long lost brother. I made the story in the hunter’s perspective to switch up my usual story where I write from a woman’s perspective. It was a little different trying to write from the perspective of a man but hopefully I didn’t butcher it too badly. I am a dog person so it was fun being able to incorporate a pup into my story. Wilson was the name of my childhood dog. So, if you want to picture the dog as a big goofy yellow lab who is also very protective feel free. Hope you liked the story!

Bibliography: Russian Fairy Tales by W. R. S. Ralston (1887)

STORY: THE WOODS

Photo Credits: Pixbay

The air was still. My body swayed back and forth rhythmically as I rode my horse to the edge of the clearing. I was with three others but the forest in front of us looked as though it was a depraved creature that was lurking in the mist. The sun had just fallen over the tree tops when we finished our supper not long before. There was no stopping though. We had to continue through the night.

We stopped at the edge of the forest, looking in at the ominous glow. When my companions looked at me for reassurance, I nodded looking forward, not wanting to see my face if my resolve cracked. I was scared, just as they were. There was a feeling that held strong on my heart not to go on now, to wait until first light. My heart was beating faster and faster as we entered the forest at a slow crawl. We were reluctant to be finally swallowed by its depth.

We rode slowly, dodging low branches and fallen trees. Suddenly there was noise right above us. Our heads all snapped up when a group of birds took off from a tree above. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Luckily, our horses stayed calm through the small commotion. We continued through the forest, but this time we picked up some speed. Still, we moved slower than a trot, ears straining to hear something that isn’t there.

“Was that our hoofs or something else?” I thought to myself.

I halted the group, putting my hand up to signal them. They stopped and the sound of hooves continued. The horses, now hearing the sound, started to show their protest. I was about to heed the beast’s advice when a huge white creature jumped out on the path before us. It was gone the other way within an instant. I looked after the blur of white and saw that it was not a fowl beast. It was a white horse with a woman on it to match. She had silver hair that reflected light even in the gloom of the forest. It wasn’t her hair that made me look twice though. It was the look of absolute terror that distorted her face.

“What was she running from? Why was she so afraid?” I asked myself. Soon after the answer appeared before me. Another blur shot past us. If I were to have blinked, I wouldn’t have seen it. But I did not blink. This time there was a burly man on a great black stallion. The man held a rage that blurred us from his vision. It seemed that all he could see or think about was catching that woman.

Carried by instinct, I kicked my horse hard in its sides to chase the two fleeing riders. What was I going to do once I caught up to them? I had no idea. All I knew was that she needed help and that I needed to give it to her.

I took off into the forest followed by my two companions. They were likeminded and spurred to action when they realized what they had just seen. The three of us race through the forest, unscathed by the low branches and unfazed by the downed trees. I heeled my horse to encourage it to move faster.

“They were getting away!” I shouted. 

 

***

“Logan … Logan! Dude, wake up! Quit kicking me man.” an irritated voice said from behind me.

I opened my eyes wearily, confused as to where I was. My brain finally cleared and I realized I was at camp. We rode horses the day before. That must have been the reason for that strange dream. I rolled over to get more comfortable on the hard ground. I pulled my sleeping bag up over my head and fell back to sleep.

Author’s Note: 
This story was very interesting and had a lot of different elements and people woven into it. It was essentially about a woman, princess, knight, you name it. She reminded me very much of Breanne (spelling?) from Game of Thrones. She is told (by a magic mirror) what her future is/ who her husband is. She was told he was this grand warrior and knight who never stayed in one place for too long. There is a scene in the beginning of the story that is much like the one I wrote but the character in mine is a boy and the main character doesn’t go after the woman but the other two do. I hope you liked my little twist ending! Thanks for reading.



Bibliography: Stories from the Faerie Queene by Mary Macleod

STORY: A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Photo Credits: Pexels

I walked down to the river to bathe before the sun had breached the horizon. The air was deathly still and held a chill that slipped through the cloak wrapped around my shoulders. I pulled it tighter around me. The slanted earth slipped slightly under my feet as I made my way closer to the edge of the river bank. The river was shielded by low hanging trees, their branches looked as if they were stretching to touch the peaceful flow of the river.

I kicked off my slippers and stirred the crystal clear water with my toes. I was pleased when it was warmer than I had expected. I let the cloak slip off my shoulders and draped it over a tree branch. I undressed down to my slip and wadded knee deep into the water. The stones were smooth on my bare feet. I bathed slowly, enjoying the sunrise and the sounds of the forest waking. 

When the sun peaked over the trees, I finally retreated to the shore and dressed. I walked slowly back to the castle in efforts to extend the peace of the morning. I stopped occasionally to pick a wildflower and weave it into my still-damp hair. The castle was surrounded by sleeping soldiers, tired from their travels and battles. When I passed through their camps, I was assaulted with the smell of unbathed men and horses—a stark contrast to the fresh scent of dew in the forest. I made my way through the hoards of groggy men, awoken by the bright morning sun and the bustle of early risers.

The smell of bread baking filled my nose as I passed the bakery. I breathed in deeply, relieved to be rid of the stench of the soldiers. My stomach growled and I placed a hand over it in a pointless effort to quiet the grumbling. I made my way to the kitchens. I was in no mood to deal with the scolding my father would give me for going down to the river.

“It is not suitable for a grown woman to bathe in the river. No daughter of mine will be so indecent to do so.” he would say, puffing out his chest. “You will bathe with the water your maids bring you like the rest of us.”

Most of the time I did as he said. Today was different. There were noble men and kings here and I was not going to smell like stale water and lye soap.

I swung the kitchen door open and reveled in the warmth that filled the room. Luckily, they hadn’t brought the food out to the dining hall yet. I was ravenous so I filled my plate with as much as I could and sat at the small table that the maids and stable hands eat at. I scarfed down every crumb. 

Thoroughly stuffed, I left the kitchen meaning to find my father now that my hair had dried. I turned the corner, unwinding a flower from my hair and knocked straight into a man I had never seen before. I stumbled backwards and he grasped my arm to steady me.

“Oh! Please excuse me.” I shook my head gently and blinked hard trying to make sure I wasn’t imagining the shockingly handsome man standing in front of me.

“The fault is mine, milady.” he said, staring passionately into my eyes.

When I looked down at my arm where he was still holding me, he let go and cleared his throat nervously.

“My name is Arthur and you are?” he asked politely.

“Guinevere!” My father’s voice boomed through the stone hallway. I grimaced, pulling the last flower from my hair as I turned to his voice.

“I see you have met King Arthur. Were your accommodations to your liking?” my father asked Arthur.

“Oh, yes. Although, it seems I am lost. Would either of you mind showing me to the dining hall?” he asked, glancing in my direction.

I opened my mouth to offer just as my father slapped Arthur on the back and said, “Why of course! I was headed that way myself.”

I stood there watching them make their way down the hall, Arthur turning his head to look back at me every few feet. I smiled softly back at him, reveling in the feeling of his longing gaze. When they turned the corner, I walked slowly back to my quarters feeling light as a feather.

Author’s Note:

I took what I read from this story and made what was only a sentence or two into a story of their meeting. I was confused as to where they met but after reading it over again I realized that it was in a castle. I started writing thinking that they were staying in campgrounds but it worked out to still work with the story when they were staying in a castle. In the original story, Arthur was fighting with Guinevere’s father and other kings who were their allies. After they won, they were celebrating and that was where the two saw each other for the first time. I was thinking about waiting until they were celebrating to have them see each other but I just had it happen before because I have no idea what princesses do in their spare time or how they get ready for parties. I think that helps make her seem like a normal person that people can better relate to. I hope you liked it!

Bibliography: King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1902)

STORY: MAN OF THE HOUSE

Photo Credits: Flickr

My husband was a man of honor. His presence demanded respect and his actions showed that he deserved it. When my father gave me to him for marriage, I was happy to be with such a man. My father was almost too old to hunt any longer. He married me to him so that we could all survive the winter months. When we needed meat, my husband ventured out into the woods to hunt. He would always, without fail, bring back more than we could eat in a week. He was skillful at what he did and enjoyed it very much. He was the greatest provider for me and my parents.

It was some time ago that he started to change. He would no longer bring home extra game for my poor parents. Many nights, they have gone hungry because of it. I tried to bring scraps and small pieces of meat too them when I could, but it was never enough. They were starving and would soon die. When I tried to tell my husband this, he would not listen to my reasoning. He discounts my logic because I am a woman.

“You think you know what it is like to hunt and to provide?” He would say, jabbing a finger in my face. “Ha! You are a silly woman without sense. These people have nothing, are nothing. They should die for their laziness and stupidity.” He lectured like this any time that I suggested giving scraps of meat to my starving parents. He would hear nothing of it.



***



I woke up suddenly, plagued by the same nightmare I have almost every night. In the dream, I walk into my parent’s lodge. Smoke hangs in the air like fog, blurring my vision. I walk a few paces, squinting to see. I trip suddenly and fall to the floor. I look back at what I tripped on to be frozen with fear. It was a body that I tripped on. Crawling on all fours, I inch closer to the hazy outline. As I get closer I realize, it isn’t just one body, but two. I cry out when I see that the bodies are those of my parents. Their bodies pale and lifeless on the cold ground. Their cheeks hollow from starvation. Hand in hand, they embraced death together.

Tears streamed down my cheeks from the empty feeling in my chest. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t save them. My heart ached for the loss I knew was coming. 

Breathing deeply, I tried to relieve myself of some of the sadness. There was work to be done. My husband was gone hunting and would not be back for another night. I went out back to start tanning the cow skins my husband brought me before he left. I was lost in my work for what could have been minutes or hours, I could not tell. But when I looked up, there was a strange man staring at me, not twenty paces from where I sat.

“Who are you and why are you staring at me?” I said, loud enough for him to hear. He looked at me and slowly rose. He did not answer at first. He approached me with cation, as if not to startle me or scare me off.

When he was less than two steps away, he finally spoke. “I am a visitor. I have traveled a long way and I am tired.” Close as he was, I could tell by his eyes that he was not lying. He must have not slept in days. “If you would be so kind as to let me stay the night, I will be eternally in your debt.” He bowed his head in respect.

“Of course you may stay. My husband is gone hunting but will return tomorrow.” I said, knowing that I would be punished for letting a strange man stay the night. I had a feeling about this man. Maybe he could help me save my parents.

The time came and my husband arrived home with the meat from his hunt.

“Who are you? Why are you in my lodge?” My husband roared, his face bright red.

The visitor stood very fast and stared at my husband’s with a force you could almost feel.

“I am a visitor. Your wife was so gracious as to offer me a place to rest for the night. I have come very—“

“You think a woman has the authority to allow you to stay in my house?” He said, body vibrating in anger. He then turned to me and raised a hand to hit me.

“Touch her and I will kill you.” The stranger’s voice was calm and quiet. My husband lowered his hand an inch but did not let it fall completely.

“Ha! You will not tell me what I can or cannot do to my own wife!” He raised his hand again and brought it down hard on the side of my face. The sound rattled in my ears and my cheek stung as I fell to the floor from the blow. I blinked fast trying to clear my eyes of tears. I heard something cut through the air like butter and hit its target. My eyes cleared enough to see my husband fall to the ground, arrow through his heart. I knew at once that my husband was dead.

“I could not stand by while he laid hands on you. I was indebted to you, now even more so for I have killed your husband. I will protect you and provide for you and your family if you will let me.” He said with an air of solidity. His voice was soothing and his words even more so. I could not respond, I was sobbing from the relief that my parents would live and the grief from the death of the person my husband used to be. Instead I nodded and let him hold me as I cried.

 
Author's Note:

In the original story, there were three sisters who were married to the guy. Only one of them, the youngest, would bring their parents meat. The man used the dad to scare the buffalo so he could shoot it. Even though the dad would help hunt, he would not give the dad any meat. One day they find a baby and use magic so that it grew up into a man. He then kills the husband and continues on in other stories to kill other evil things. I changed it so that there was only one wife and the man who kills the husband is a stranger. I didn’t want to bring magic into the picture so that the story seemed more realistic. This story was hard to end but I had to end but I feel it gives the reader more choice over what comes next. I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell (1915).

STORY: THE FLAMES IN THE MEADOW

Photo Credits: Randi Hausken


As the sun crept its way up in the early summer morning, there was an overwhelming sense of calm. The sun stretched out its arms, grazing its fingers along each one of the flowers in the meadow. The flowers seemed to glow with attention, reaching up to embrace the sun’s gentile caress. When the sun had made it above the mountains, the flowers looked more like a sea of fire than a meadow of flowers. With bright oranges and yellows, the meadow looked as though it were alive.


In the midst of the fiery scene stood a small shack, no bigger than one room. The couple who dwelled there were slow to rise in efforts to prolong the charm of early morning. Will and Layla had been together for almost thirty years now. Their love never weakening, through the good years and bad. They looked into each other’s eyes with the same passion and adoration as the day that they wed.


The day they wed was also the day that they ran away from their little village. Their marriage was not approved by either of their families. Sure that they would be cast out on their announcement of marriage, the new couple took all that they could carry and set off to find a new home. After walking for almost a week, they found this meadow, so beautiful and serene, they immediately knew that this was where they were to live for the rest of their lives. Tucked away from the rest of the world, they escaped the judgement of those who could not understand how profound and unadulterated this connection was they shared.


Working together they created their little house from what they could find in the surrounding woods. Growing up, Will was a carpenter’s apprentice in the village. He was good with his hands and was fluid with his work. The house was ready just before the winter winds blew from the north and covered the meadow with snow. While Will worked on the house, Layla gathered what she could before the frost came. She was talented in the way of herbal medicine and set out into the forest to find the array of herbs she liked to keep on hand.






Photo Credits: Pixabay



Winter seemed to go on forever that first year. Their rations were dwindling and there was little game in the forest. The hollows of their cheeks were more pronounced than ever and their bodies were struggling to produce enough heat to keep them going. They held each other close at night, terrified at the thought that it would be there last night together.


Just as they were about to give up hope, the snow started to melt. The two were overjoyed when they saw the vivid green slivers of grass peeking through the melting snow. They were quick to learn how to live on their own. Having been in arms reach of death, they were more determined than ever to make every moment count.


It was then that they realized that just like the waves of fiery flowers that returned every spring, their love would never end. Not even the cold grip of death could stifle something so absolute.





Bibliography: The Crimson Fairy Book by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1903).







Author’s note:

I really loved the opening of the story that I read. It was a very vivid image in my mind and I wanted to take that and create something with it. I did not like how in the story the wife offers her child as sacrifice to the creature in the water. All of the characters in the story seem to be very self-important. The husband thought that it wasn’t fair of the wife to ask for different honey when she was very sick. So he decided once he was better that he would have her fetch water for him. It was a very childlike relationship and I didn’t want to write about those elements of the story. So I essentially just took the scene of the story and created something totally different. Although there is less of a plot in my version, I think it simply tells the story of two people who were not self-centered and cruel. I hope you liked reading my version of it!

 



STORY: TRANSFORMATION



Photo Credits: Wikipedia

 
The cave was covered by a waterfall so blue,
That no one could see past it, some couldn’t get through.
But one was so brave, to go through the water,
He shouted “I am Sir Yang, the most valiant martyr.”
Through the water he went where his enemy stood waiting,
A giant with a black face and red hair that was blazing.

Some time did pass once the fighting commenced,
The giant took flight, he knew he was losing, he was not dense.
Up in the air, the giant turned into a sparrow,
Now light and agile, the bird could dodge any arrow.
Quick behind him came the transformed Sir Yang,
So fast the birds flew to escape death’s fangs.

With Sir Yang too near, the giant made a wish,
Hitting the water with a splash, the once giant turned into a scaly fish.
The bird was no longer in sight and Sir Yang cursed,
“Damn this creature! This couldn’t be worse!”
As soon as he said it, his luck turned around,
There was movement in the water, the giant was found.
“A fish! A fish! That is what I need to be.”
So Sir Yang was to change so he could swim deep in the sea.

The fish saw then that Sir Yang had found him,
“What now?” he asked, fins flapping to swim.
Right before the change took place,
The fish (once giant) turned into a snake.
Knowing that the sparrow was too small,
Sir Yang changed instead to an eagle with enormous claws.
Quick Sir Yang was to keep on the snake’s trail,
He was soon upon him again, and the snake let out a loud wail. 

But once more the snake changed just before he was seized,
At this point to Sir Yang, it all seemed like a tease.
On the edge of a cliff, Sir Yang found the old snake,
But now again he was a bird in idle wait.
Sir Yang grew tired of these games and took out his arrow,
And with the skill of an archer he hit the small little sparrow. 

Off of the side of the cliff the sparrow tumbled with ease,
Down to the base of it with the help of a soft breeze.
Looking down from the edge Sir Yang stood disgraced,
For the giant tried to trick him into the chapel from which the giant was shaped. 

“Nice try, you giant, but you will not trick me!”
“For I will break your windows and doors, just you see!”
When the giant heard Sir Yang’s threats he was chilled to the bone,
For he knew that his threats were not idle ones, they were written in stone. 

As fast as a tiger the giant changed one more time,
But first he went to a place he thought Sir Yang would never find.
The giant was right, Sir Yang could not find a trace,
So he went to the Gods to find the giant’s hiding place.

The Gods laughed at the giant’s cleverness and said “Do you see?”
When he did he was astonished saying, “The giant pretends to be me?”
 

Right under Sir Yang’s nose did the giant hide,
In his own shape, his own throne, drinking his own wine!
In anger, he hastened back to his own home,
To the place where the giant sat, enjoying the life that was his own.
 

Confused as they were as to why two kings appeared,
The giant laughed and resumed his form and all of Sir Yang’s subjects ran in fear.
The fighting resumed but not long after,
Sir Yang came up with a plan for the giant’s capture.
 

Catching the giant’s leg with a rope,
The giant tripped and fell just as Sir Yang hoped.
Sir Yang’s followers soon realized they had an advantage,
And started tying him down as well as they could manage.

Sir Yang secured the final strap,
And gave himself a pat on the back.
This is the end of the giant’s mean life,
For Sir Yang’s sword killed him with one clean swipe.   

Author's Note:
There were a few scenes that stood out to me in this story. One of those being the scene where Yang Oerlang was sent to capture Sun Wu Kung and bring him to Heaven to pay for his crimes. They change into many forms while fighting each other so I thought that kind of repetitive nature of the story would go well in the form of a poem. In the end, Yang brings Sun to Heaven and they try to kill him there in the oven but it doesn’t work. So, for the sake of ending the story without a cliff hanger, I just had Yang kill him. This wouldn’t have worked in the original story because Sun was immortal. I had fun writing this story and I hope you enjoyed it!



Bibliography: "The Ape Sun Wu Kung" in The Chinese Fairy Book, ed. by R. Wilhelm and translated by Frederick H. Martens (1921).

STORY: NOT AS IT SEEMS

Photo Credits: Unsplash

The early rays of sun stretched across the bed. When they finally make it to my eyes I pull the covers up over my head as my refusal to start the day just yet. My husband stirred next to me, he too trying to escape the day for a few more minutes of peaceful dreaming.

I sighed softly into the covers and turned away from him. Although he is a kind and loving man, he is not who my heart desires. It is most unfortunate that the one I love is his only brother. I am one of many who do not marry the one that they wish. It is uncommonly rare for a woman to desire a marriage and to be granted that marriage, in these days. But, he was better suited to care and provide for me and our children and I had learned to accept that.

The only problem is, there will be no children. It has been over three years since our wedding night and nothing to prove of it. How could I stand to live out my days knowing that my only wish, to be a mother, will never be granted to me? What evil had I done to deserve such a depressed tale? If doing right wasn’t working, I thought, maybe I should do wrong.

I pushed the covers down and slipped gently from bed. The morning was not yet heated by the sun’s glow and I wrapped my robe tightly around my middle. I dressed quickly to avoid a chill and went to start my daily routine.

Walking into the kitchen I saw eggs for breakfast already brought in for me by my husband’s brother and the one I love, Bata. How sweet it was to save me the trip to the coop on this frigid morning. As I begin to prepare breakfast, I am assaulted by the image in my window. With the sun just peaking over the trees, the light was reflecting off of Bata’s figure, already hard at work in the fields not twenty yards from our house.

Almost as if he could feel my gaze, he turned towards the house and smiled at me softly. Even after three years of marriage to another man, it took naught but a glance from him to heat my face and fill my stomach with nerves.

Once breakfast was finished, my husband and Bata made their way to the field to start the day’s work. I was left to clean and sow and things of the sort until it was time to prepare for the next meal. It wasn’t a bad life to be sure, but I always imagined the patter of feet running to and fro accompanied by little voices. Sometimes, if I close my eyes, I can just imagine the way my children would be like. There would be three of them. All close in age and all the best of friends.

The door swung open suddenly, jarring me from my fantasy. In the same moment, it gave me an idea. I needed children and if my husband couldn’t give them to me, the man before me can.





Author's Notes:

When I read this story it cast Anpu’s wife, who doesn’t even have a name, in a very bad light. She essentially was depicted as a liar who wanted to cheat on her husband with his brother. So, wanting to give the woman a chance, I created a background story for her that explains why she wanted to sleep with her husband’s brother.


Bibliography: Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie

STORY: THE VOYAGER'S WIFE

Photo Credits: jarmoluk

Dearest Sindbad, 

It was a beautiful summer day here. The wind lightly blew the hair from my neck, just enough to cool me off. When I sat back in the chair and closed my eyes, I could only just imagine that it was you softly blowing on my neck and hugging me as the chair did. Not a minute goes by whilst I’m awake that you are not in my thoughts. This beautiful day has succeeded in making me quite sentimental. Thinking of all the months we have been apart from each other makes my heart heavy with pain. Even while I sleep it is you I see behind my lids. But as I fall asleep, with the moon shining through the window, I know that you are there. Although, you are not in front of me, your presence is like a warm blanket or a soft glow from a candle. When I look up at the moon, I know that no matter how far away we are, the moon can see the both of us. Just as I feel your presence, I hope you too feel the adoration I have always felt for you. I only hope that you are to receive this message when you finally arrive at your destination. I will write more as my heart feels the need to speak with you in some way. My love – please return to me. For I can seldom keep myself together anymore. As always, I wish you the safest of travels without perils. 

I love you to the moon,
Marina




My sweet Marina,

Do not fret my little bird. For I have reached my destination at last. Soon – my dearest – I will make my way back to you. Do not worry for me. You must look after yourself for me while I am not there by your side. I do wish it were me, holding you so sweetly in my arms as the sun sets behind the tree line. It must be that I have yet to see the sun in weeks. The clouds are constantly looming over me. It must be because I am not with you. The sky reflects the way I feel this moment. A depressed and dark creature I am without my wife by my side. The crew men do not understand the perils I have with leaving you. There is nothing worse than a man who does not understand these things. For they cannot understand why the ocean does not excite me like it used to. For when I am on the ocean, I am away from you and this is always my biggest regret. I only wish for this voyage to end so that I can hold you in my arms once more. There is only so much left of the journey and I will write when I can. For now, though, enjoy the little flowers you planted outside our bedroom window and the smell of the pines that encompass our house like a wool blanket. The voyage has been rough thus far but nothing that would keep me away from you. There is something stronger than us that binds you and I together.

All of my love,

Sindbad





Author’s Note:

For this story I created a wife for Sindbad the sailor from the Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor. In the stories he was always going on voyages to dangerous places. Instead of focusing on his adventures, I focused on the “woman he left behind”. I have always enjoyed reading love letters. Although it seems like they have died out recently and have the stigma of being cheesy or not manly. This is mainly the fault of technology but it has been kicked out of our culture for the most part. Sindbad always came home at the end of his voyages, without injury and with a lot of money. I tried to write this story from the perspective of someone other than the main character to make it more dimensional.



The Arabian Nights' Entertainments by Andrew Lang, illustrated by H. J. Ford (1898).

STORY: BEHIND THE LINES

It is much easier to be the one doing something dangerous, I think. The hard part is to sit and wait as someone you love, risks their life and their health. And you sit, unable to do anything to help them in their efforts to survive.

Some will sit idly by, frozen with dread with nothing that will ease their mind. I am not this way. I have managed to do all of the possible weaving, spinning, sewing, grinding of grain, fetching water, washing, and bathing that I could do in the past few days. Trying to keep my mind only in the feelings of here and now. If I let my mind slip, I don’t know if I would be able to come back from it.

Focusing now on the small bundle in my arms, I rocked and cooed to my sweet baby boy, Astyanax. Of all people, it was him I needed to be strong for. He needed a mother who wasn’t absent minded like I have been in the past few days, dizzy with worry. Astyanax’s little head, covered with hair like golden silk, emerged from the bundle with a yawn and a smile. I smiled back at this little creature, so delicate yet I know he will be a strong man in no time.

It was just past first light and the servant girl, Aella, entered the court with pails of water for me to bathe Astyanax.

“Just there, my dear.” I said as I smiled softly in thanks. Aella bowed her head slightly and set the water next to my feet. I hum to myself as I unravel my child from his blanket. I lean over, grabbing the wet cloth from the pail and kiss his soft belly, making him sigh contentedly. I make quick work of his bath and wrap him back into his cloth.

“There you are my perfect child. Born with the face of a God you were.” Whispering sweetly in his ear as I rise to help with the making of the first bread.

With nothing left for me to do, I pace the courtyard with my child tucked neatly in my arms, fast asleep. The breeze changes and I swear I can hear the cries of men in battle.

“My dearest husband, what will I do if you do not return to me?” Closing my eyes I try to stop the images of battle from flooding my vision. With my eyes closed, I overhear the words of men outside the courtyard talking of the Greeks fighting hard against them.

“I must go to the tower.” Addressing my nurse who seemed worried. She nodded and said, “I will carry him for you then.” I agreed, not trusting my body to carry more than its own weight.

Once on the tower, looking over the wall. The sight I saw was gruesome, even from such height. Feeling faint I turned from the wall, fearing the worst of my husband.

As if he had heard my thoughts and come to relieve me of them, he just then appeared, safe within the walls below me. He smiled at me and the child. I did not smile back, still afraid of what was yet to come.

 “Oh Hector, your bravery will surely kill you. Do you no longer care about your wife and child? All of the Greeks will rush you and kill you. If you die, I will truly be alone. With no family left, you are my family. Please, pity me and stay here with us so that you will live. You have done your duty and will always be the bravest of all of the chiefs.”

“My dear wife,” he said then. “Do not fret. For I will come back to you. I cannot bear the thought that my child would see me hide from the battle while the rest of the men of Troy fight. I must fight for your safety and freedom from being a slave to the Greeks.”

Hector then took the child from me and prayed that Astyanax be just as great of a warrior as his father. Handing the small child back to me I held him tightly and smiled sadly with a tear running down my cheek.

Photo Credits: Bertel Thorvaldsen

“Do not worry, my dove.” He said, wiping the tear from my cheek. “No man can kill me unless it is my fate to die. No one can escape fate, brave or weak. Go now, my dear wife, make sure the maids are doing what they are supposed to, let the men take care of the battle.”

With that I turned, slowly and without haste. For I fear this is the last time I will see my husband. With every few steps, I turn again to see his face once more, until he is out of sight.








Authors Note

Thank you for reading my story! I wasn’t feeling very confident about finding something to work with in this story. It was a lot of warriors battling each other and being petty about the women they capture and praying to the Gods for them to do something about it. When I was going through my notes, there wasn’t a lot that stood out to me. Then I thought that I should write the story from someone else’s perspective. When I was thinking back to all of the people in the story, I stopped on Hector’s wife. I thought it would be an interesting idea to tell it from the perspective of someone who isn’t a main character. In one of the books I am reading for fun, there was a part about how this man was not used to being the person who waited for someone to come back from doing something dangerous. He was usually the one doing it. So, that is where I came up with the start to the story and the rest just flowed alongside the writing in the book.

Bibliography
  The Iliad retold by Alfred J. Church

STORY: THE MAN WITH NO FACE



Photo Credits: Jim G

“This is the last chance you’re going to get. Make it count.” Gary, the man at the job placement agency tells me looking down his big nose over his glasses. The stuffy air was suffocating and his look of disappointment made it all the worse.

“Yes. I’ll do my best.” The last five jobs I was placed at didn’t work out and this one didn’t seem very promising either. But, I can’t blow it off. My family is counting on me to make it work this time.

After shaking hands with Gary, I walked briskly to the doors of that airless building. Breathing a sigh of relief that I made it out of there.

Tomorrow at noon I had my interview at the Greystone’s house. I wasn’t surprised when I saw the listing for a housekeeper/chef/other listed under their name. They owned the most lucrative winery in Traverse City and their house is what you would expect of people who make that exorbitant amount of money.

I get in my little blue Jetta and pulled away from the hustle and bustle of midday in the town center. I roll my windows down to rid myself of the feeling of that stuffy building. After five minutes of driving I turn down my street and pull into the driveway of my childhood home.

My parents weren’t able to afford sending me and my two older sisters to college. I had always been a home body so I chose to stay.

I walked in the door, sliding my boots and my coat off simultaneously.

“Dinner is served!” My mom yells from the next room. Setting the last plate on the table.





Waking up the next day, I had a new sense of determination. I said goodbye in rush, holding my resume in one hand and a piece of toast with butter in the other.

When I arrived at the Greystone’s house, I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

“I can do this.” I repeated to myself for the tenth time on my car ride here.

I stepped out of my car and headed to the massive door. Before I even step foot on the mat the door opened for me.

“Hello! You must be Elliotte! Come in, come in. Mrs. Greystone is waiting for you in the sitting room.” A plump kind looking woman opened the door for me and led me to the sitting room that was bigger than my kitchen and living room combined.

“Hello Elliotte. I am Mrs. Greystone.” She said with a formal uninviting tone that made me feel like I was intruding on something. Reaching out her hand, she shook mine with a feather light grip.

The rest of the interview seemed to go alright. Though I wasn’t sure because of Mrs. Greystone’s blank expressions. I really did need this job and I hope that even she could see that I was willing and able to work hard for the money. The job was for their guest house, where her old son, Will, lives.

“Alright, that is all I need to know. You can start tomorrow, correct?” She says looking down at the paperwork in front of her.

“Oh, I got the job?!” I say with a little too much enthusiasm. Clearing my throat I say, “I mean, yes, I can start tomorrow. Definitely.” Nodding with as much professionalism as I can muster.

“Great.” She says, standing up. “I will see you tomorrow to go over, in detail, what I expect from you.”

With a curt nod, I am escorted out. Walking the cobblestone driveway to my car, I can’t help but do a skip or two out of pure excitement. Once I got in my car, I started playing over what she said during the interview.

“He does not like to be seen by the workers. So you must knock before entering a room and once your tasks are done, make yourself scarce.”

I couldn’t help but wonder why he doesn’t want to be seen.





My days go by quickly as I orient myself to this new job. I try to find clues as to what Will actually looks like. I have seen no photos around the house. So, I am left to wonder. The conversation from yesterday with my two older sisters played on repeat in my head.

“That is so weird. You should just poke your head through the door one day. Oh! Or ‘accidentally’ open the door as though you didn’t hear him respond.” One of my sisters suggested.

“Yeah. I couldn’t imagine being in someone’s house, let alone working for them, and not knowing what they look like. Does it not drive you insane?” My other sister said.

I try to shake the thoughts out of my head but they wouldn’t leave. So, I decided to listen to them. I knock lightly on the door and open it before Will has a chance to reply. I am greeted immediately with a scowl across a once beautiful face, mutilated by a scar that stretches from the right side of his dark brown hair all the way to the left side of his chiseled chin.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts, shocked to finally meet Will face to face.

“I am so sorry, Will, I mean Sir. I didn’t hear. I swear I knocked. I really didn’t mean to barge in like this.” I say quickly stumbling over the words that spill out of my mouth.

Will simply turned away with a sad look on his face and sighed heavily, dismissing me. I quickly turn to the door and shut it behind me. I slide down the outside of the door to sit, my legs weak with fear of losing my job. I shed a single tear. Partially for myself and my family, but also for the man on the other side of the door. Unwilling to show the world his face.







Author’s Note:
This story was a mix between Cupid and Psyche, the book/movie You Before Me and a little bit of Beauty and the Beast. It was hard to think of something that would make someone hide their face from everyone. Yet, there are plenty of people with serious face scarring that don’t hide from the world. I wanted to write about something at least relatively realistic. The setting in the beginning of You Before Me was very similar. The main character goes to the job agency in her town. She gets a job at a mansion where she is to clean the house, and eventually befriend, a man with physical disabilities. I felt like this setting was a realistic to set my story around. I hope you liked it!


Bibliography:
Apuleius's Cupid and Psyche: link to the reading.

STORY...WHAT SHALL WE DO?

 Nikos

The smell of saltwater and the tireless labors of sailing were the only two things that have been keeping me going. Well, that and the promise of a traditional Greek meal when I dock.

The Thessalonikis are like family to me and like any true Greek family, they know how to cook. They own a restaurant right in the middle of town and I am their main provider of fish. Whenever I stop by, they make sure I know that my services are appreciated by stuffing me full of food. Each time I visit my sadness intensifies, knowing I might never see Grace again. Grace is the Thessaloniki’s youngest daughter and my closest childhood friend. Although she was always something more to me. She left for university and hasn’t come back since, leaving me to think of all the “what ifs”.

My stomach growling interrupted my thoughts making me change directions and head to dock up for some food. Once my ship was all tied down, I made the short trip up to Agnanti.


***


Grace

The sun was already beating down on the Greek island of Skopelos. The short breezes that occasionally rustled the leaves of the trees was a welcome break from the stifling rays. Trudging up the hundreds of steps to work was not ideal by my standards. But when I looked out over the icy blue water, I knew I made the right decision in moving back.

I’ve been back for a few days now and I finally have to time to go to my family’s restaurant. I make my way on the cobblestone path to Agnanti, a path I’ve traveled a thousand times. I turn to open the electric blue French doors and I am assaulted with the smell of my childhood. Closing my eyes I take in all the smells. Freshly caught fish and bread just out from the oven overlay the soft salty breeze coming through the open windows.

Opening my eyes again I realize I am face to face with my best friend from childhood.

“Nikos!” I almost scream with excitement. I run into his open arms and he swings me around like he would years ago.

“Gracie! I didn’t know you were coming home. What changed?” He asked. Setting me down and pulling back to look at me. He was always good at reading my face so I let my hair fall forward to hide my blush.

“Ah… It’s a long story. We’ll have time to talk later, your food is ready.” I say pointing behind him to my mother, holding his favorite food, baked aborigine and beef shin with spaghetti.

Narrowing his eyes he looked at me and slowly turned to his food. Knowing his weakness to my mother’s cooking, I was able to escape his interrogation for the time being. We make our way over to our old spot on the balcony and sit so he can eat. There was a different feeling that accompanied this reunion but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

Before he has time to take a bite, little voices from below reach our ears.

“Should I, Oh! Should I?” One of the little voices says. We turn to match the voice with a person and see a small boy. No more than eight years old.

“What should we do?” Replies the little girl sitting on a cobblestone step next to the little boy.

“I will kiss you.” The little boy declares. The little girl’s eyes go wide and before she can react, the little boy gives her a short kiss on the little girl’s lips.

When I look back up at Nikos, we both burst out laughing.

“Poor girl! She had no idea what was coming for her.” I say between laughs. When we quiet down Nikos eyes darken as he looks into mine.

“I will kiss you, Grace.”





Author’s Note

I used a nursery rhyme from “The Nursery Rhyme Book” to create this short story. It was lot harder to create a story from something else that was already in existence like this. I started off thinking I was going to have the two characters I created kiss as if they were the two kids in the nursery rhyme. But, as I continued writing, I decided it would work better if the two stories connected in a different way. So, that is why I had them overhear the kids and then react. The island is a real place and I got the idea to use it because this is where the movie Mamma Mia was filmed. The restaurant is also a real place on the island but everything else is fictional.

This was the nursery rhyme I used:

There was a little boy and a little girl
Lived in an alley;
Says the little boy to the little girl,
“Shall I, oh! shall I?”
Says the little girl to the little boy,
“What shall we do?”
Says the little boy to the little girl,
“I will kiss you.”


Bibliography. “The Nursery Rhyme Book,” edited by Andrew Lang and illustrated by L. Leslie Brooke, 1897, Web Source.

Photo Credit: Taken by: Yorick_R on June 22, 2010