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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Fairy Tale / Folk Tale
- Published: 11/25/2021
A Fairytale of Us
Born 1954, F, from Sankt Augistin, GermanyA Fairy Tale of Us
Yvonne Roche-Harth
In times past,
the kings of the inner Solar System came together to bespeak a new planet. Concluding that there was still space in the corner of the Milky Way, they consented to place it between Venus and Mars. They named the new sibling Earth, designed to dance around the sun and host life. The new planet was so beautiful that the kings decided to ordain a feast inviting the seven sisters, the wise-women of Orion-Cygnus, who were asked to give their blessing, and populate the planet. After much deliberation, they chose a human-kind to care for it, nurture it, and to hand it over to generations of generations to come.
And so, the custodians of the Earth settled in to till the soil, farm the land, adding to creation. In time, the Earthlings strove for more, no longer satisfied with what was enough, until the cradle of excess began to rock. The little planet, tucked in the corner of the Milky Way, wobbled dangerously. The wise-women conferred to offset the impending dilemma forever confident in the savvy of a species. All that is, bar one.
However, the Earthlings became cocky, outsmarting themselves, forgetful of their origins, careless. In cauldrons of negligence, a brew began to germinate, bringing forth a cocktail of the unknown, unseen, but deadly. Alarmed, the wise-women colluded to mitigate the inevitable, to stop the clock. All that is, bar one.
Maleficent is abroad, turning the rusty key to unlock the chamber at the top of the spiral causeway. Finding the spindle, she rethreads the brittle yarn, whirling the wheel of dark and dreary progress.
“I curse thee, Earthlings. Ye shall walk my earth no more.”
Opening her opulent wings, she stands before the loom.
The wise-women huddle round to plead their case, to stop the clock.
“We shall re-neigh your curse, sister! Stand aside!”
Maleficent smiles a maleficent smile and quits the chamber.
Daylight rises on the cusp of a waning moon. Maleficent lifts skywards to ride the winds, fall upon the fields, tumble the haycocks, raise roofs, exposing a world brutally aroused from slumber. Calling upon the Heraclitean kingdoms of fire, she smites the land with flames of wrath, until all is set ablaze to ashes. Swirling above the syncing forests, the whining of a newborn babe incites her to stop. Retreating to follow the sound, she finds an infant swaddled in its crib. Picking it up, she tucks it gently beneath her silver-gold wings. Frozen by her onslaught, she relents a little, and instead the Earthlings fall into a deep, uncanny sleep.
The wise-women inbound to right the dire situation. Thus, empowered, they hurl their wands to remove the gruelling spindle, the yoke of ignorance, and sprinkle, in its place, the sticky glitter of consciousness, the Christ of reason.
“We shall reforge the earth. Refit it with what it takes.” They declare.
Everyone confirms. All that is, bar one.
Above the birthing planet, a shroud of brilliant light ignites the fertile loom, to daub the fields with bounty. In tune with all around, the river finds its bed to once again recite its song of ancient syntax. The magic glass of chemistry is shaken once again to fire the reluctant trees. They hesitate and say.
“I inhaled your chemistry, and you inhaled mine. This was a perfect partnership.”
Then, drawing on their exhale, the mighty oaks refuse.
The wise-women confer.
“We shall make amends!” The wise-women declare. “We promise.”
The oak and the sceptical ash bend and part to whisper through the forests.
“Very well,” they say. “But we are not entirely convinced.”
The gentle bees are rattled out of dreaming time, invited to abide by the rivers, their buzz of middle C is reset to resonate with the timbre of tiny things and the rich crimson red in rainbows, all creatures wear within. The octaves of each colour align with other sounds, tweaked and turned to plectrum on the tightened strings of life.
The animals decline, point-blank, refusing to return.
“You gobble us up. Why should we offer ourselves to gluttons?”
The whales too, pipe up.
“We stranded on your shores. This was our final warning. But you did not understand our language.”
“We shall make amends!” The wise-women declare. “We promise.”
The wise-women confer to review the situation. Man’s voracious appetite is recalled, placed upon a salver.
“Indeed, nothing can be whitewashed,” they insist. “it is as all declare.”
Hence, the Earth is newly tuned to a time that was before. A Prince is cast, moulded for its future. Encrusted in the earth, nourished by the oceans, he follows the furtive time of innocence, washing onto the shores, drenching the land, to make a marriage of good fortune. He climbs the hedge of thorns to find the latticed truth, whooshing through the aperture on a carpet of rainbows to run with the rivers, a white and constant shadow. Encountering the stubborn trees he stoops to honour them, bowing to their majesty. He inhales their holy chemistry, they inhale his. Eventually, they part and bend aside, allowing him to wander the landscape of sacred geometry, a geography of vibrant shapes and forms.
Taking the path less travelled, he lingers by the river, to gaze into the crystal mirror. The wise-women waft above the gurgling rush, now amplified, rippling over the unturned stones they whisper in his ear.
“I am the earth, and the earth is me.”
He picks up the tune embedded in the water, the voice that runs beneath the slippery stones, and stares into its depths to find his Maiden. Waiting on a roly-poly rusting barrel in the middle of a meadow, she rises to offer him a seat allowing her red-gold hair to fold like angel wings. He cups her face in his outstretched hands and kisses her virgin mouth. It is then the strands of their souls are plaited, turned over, on hold, waiting to start over.
Maleficent watches, eyes narrowing. Before her, the vortex that separates the planets swirls, tunnel-like to let her pass. She closes her eyes and is flown. On reaching solid ground, she lands. Opalescent wings flap open to the dribbling rain falling softly from her neck down the straight of her back. Careful not to arouse suspicion, she walks a while. Arriving at the bridge of rainbows, she crosses easily, strolling through the palaces of time, unlocking the door, she strides along the corridors of echoes to place the sleeping child back into its cot.
The news spreads far and wide. The once barren queens of Orion-Cygnus have been blessed with child. A princess is born. The court is gathered round, in waiting. The wise-women are invited to give their godly blessings. One at a time, they approach the crib to bestow their gifts. Maleficent stands alone, uninvited. Unnoticed, she leaves her place behind the pillar to strut towards the cradle. The wise-women disperse to move quickly. They embrace her. Thus, she is called upon to give the final blessing. Maleficent hovers, hesitating. Eventually, she relinquishes. Smiling at the new born infant, she takes back her curse, turning it into aphorisms of hope, a new vision. Sprinkling gratitude and savvy, she, eventually rescinds.
END
A Fairytale of Us(Yvonne Roche-Harth)
A Fairy Tale of Us
Yvonne Roche-Harth
In times past,
the kings of the inner Solar System came together to bespeak a new planet. Concluding that there was still space in the corner of the Milky Way, they consented to place it between Venus and Mars. They named the new sibling Earth, designed to dance around the sun and host life. The new planet was so beautiful that the kings decided to ordain a feast inviting the seven sisters, the wise-women of Orion-Cygnus, who were asked to give their blessing, and populate the planet. After much deliberation, they chose a human-kind to care for it, nurture it, and to hand it over to generations of generations to come.
And so, the custodians of the Earth settled in to till the soil, farm the land, adding to creation. In time, the Earthlings strove for more, no longer satisfied with what was enough, until the cradle of excess began to rock. The little planet, tucked in the corner of the Milky Way, wobbled dangerously. The wise-women conferred to offset the impending dilemma forever confident in the savvy of a species. All that is, bar one.
However, the Earthlings became cocky, outsmarting themselves, forgetful of their origins, careless. In cauldrons of negligence, a brew began to germinate, bringing forth a cocktail of the unknown, unseen, but deadly. Alarmed, the wise-women colluded to mitigate the inevitable, to stop the clock. All that is, bar one.
Maleficent is abroad, turning the rusty key to unlock the chamber at the top of the spiral causeway. Finding the spindle, she rethreads the brittle yarn, whirling the wheel of dark and dreary progress.
“I curse thee, Earthlings. Ye shall walk my earth no more.”
Opening her opulent wings, she stands before the loom.
The wise-women huddle round to plead their case, to stop the clock.
“We shall re-neigh your curse, sister! Stand aside!”
Maleficent smiles a maleficent smile and quits the chamber.
Daylight rises on the cusp of a waning moon. Maleficent lifts skywards to ride the winds, fall upon the fields, tumble the haycocks, raise roofs, exposing a world brutally aroused from slumber. Calling upon the Heraclitean kingdoms of fire, she smites the land with flames of wrath, until all is set ablaze to ashes. Swirling above the syncing forests, the whining of a newborn babe incites her to stop. Retreating to follow the sound, she finds an infant swaddled in its crib. Picking it up, she tucks it gently beneath her silver-gold wings. Frozen by her onslaught, she relents a little, and instead the Earthlings fall into a deep, uncanny sleep.
The wise-women inbound to right the dire situation. Thus, empowered, they hurl their wands to remove the gruelling spindle, the yoke of ignorance, and sprinkle, in its place, the sticky glitter of consciousness, the Christ of reason.
“We shall reforge the earth. Refit it with what it takes.” They declare.
Everyone confirms. All that is, bar one.
Above the birthing planet, a shroud of brilliant light ignites the fertile loom, to daub the fields with bounty. In tune with all around, the river finds its bed to once again recite its song of ancient syntax. The magic glass of chemistry is shaken once again to fire the reluctant trees. They hesitate and say.
“I inhaled your chemistry, and you inhaled mine. This was a perfect partnership.”
Then, drawing on their exhale, the mighty oaks refuse.
The wise-women confer.
“We shall make amends!” The wise-women declare. “We promise.”
The oak and the sceptical ash bend and part to whisper through the forests.
“Very well,” they say. “But we are not entirely convinced.”
The gentle bees are rattled out of dreaming time, invited to abide by the rivers, their buzz of middle C is reset to resonate with the timbre of tiny things and the rich crimson red in rainbows, all creatures wear within. The octaves of each colour align with other sounds, tweaked and turned to plectrum on the tightened strings of life.
The animals decline, point-blank, refusing to return.
“You gobble us up. Why should we offer ourselves to gluttons?”
The whales too, pipe up.
“We stranded on your shores. This was our final warning. But you did not understand our language.”
“We shall make amends!” The wise-women declare. “We promise.”
The wise-women confer to review the situation. Man’s voracious appetite is recalled, placed upon a salver.
“Indeed, nothing can be whitewashed,” they insist. “it is as all declare.”
Hence, the Earth is newly tuned to a time that was before. A Prince is cast, moulded for its future. Encrusted in the earth, nourished by the oceans, he follows the furtive time of innocence, washing onto the shores, drenching the land, to make a marriage of good fortune. He climbs the hedge of thorns to find the latticed truth, whooshing through the aperture on a carpet of rainbows to run with the rivers, a white and constant shadow. Encountering the stubborn trees he stoops to honour them, bowing to their majesty. He inhales their holy chemistry, they inhale his. Eventually, they part and bend aside, allowing him to wander the landscape of sacred geometry, a geography of vibrant shapes and forms.
Taking the path less travelled, he lingers by the river, to gaze into the crystal mirror. The wise-women waft above the gurgling rush, now amplified, rippling over the unturned stones they whisper in his ear.
“I am the earth, and the earth is me.”
He picks up the tune embedded in the water, the voice that runs beneath the slippery stones, and stares into its depths to find his Maiden. Waiting on a roly-poly rusting barrel in the middle of a meadow, she rises to offer him a seat allowing her red-gold hair to fold like angel wings. He cups her face in his outstretched hands and kisses her virgin mouth. It is then the strands of their souls are plaited, turned over, on hold, waiting to start over.
Maleficent watches, eyes narrowing. Before her, the vortex that separates the planets swirls, tunnel-like to let her pass. She closes her eyes and is flown. On reaching solid ground, she lands. Opalescent wings flap open to the dribbling rain falling softly from her neck down the straight of her back. Careful not to arouse suspicion, she walks a while. Arriving at the bridge of rainbows, she crosses easily, strolling through the palaces of time, unlocking the door, she strides along the corridors of echoes to place the sleeping child back into its cot.
The news spreads far and wide. The once barren queens of Orion-Cygnus have been blessed with child. A princess is born. The court is gathered round, in waiting. The wise-women are invited to give their godly blessings. One at a time, they approach the crib to bestow their gifts. Maleficent stands alone, uninvited. Unnoticed, she leaves her place behind the pillar to strut towards the cradle. The wise-women disperse to move quickly. They embrace her. Thus, she is called upon to give the final blessing. Maleficent hovers, hesitating. Eventually, she relinquishes. Smiling at the new born infant, she takes back her curse, turning it into aphorisms of hope, a new vision. Sprinkling gratitude and savvy, she, eventually rescinds.
END
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JD
11/26/2021That was a beautifully written and inspirational story, Yvonne. Your descriptions were masterfully penned. Superb reimagining of a famous fairy tale. Thank you for sharing this story on Storystar. If you enjoy writing challenges we have one going right now till the end of the month. See the Storystar blog for details. It would be wonderful to read more stories from you.... :-)
ReplyHelp Us Understand What's Happening
Yvonne Roche-Harth
11/29/2021Hi JD
Thank you for your thoughtful comments. great!
Best
Yvonne
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