This is one of those stories I've had in my head for years (and I mean YEARS!) that I've never had the guts to write down. Since one of my goals (other than writing) is to be more courageous this year, I've decided it is time to give birth to this work, no turning back! I hope it brings a little bit of (necessary) magic in your day! Perhaps you'll be able to tell which character I'm basing on myself...
The wind tousled their hair, grass tickled their ankles. Brooke and Nicole were off to their special hideaway. Since their family moved to the countryside, they welcomed the fresh air, green fields, and especially the woods. Mother was tending to their younger brother, Allen, who couldn't quite leave her side to play with his sisters. Father had work to do in the field. The girls enjoyed their freedom as they marched through the wood.
To any ordinary person, their special spot in the wood would look only like trees and a stream. Brooke believed their to be many people incapable of believing and perceiving magic. She was the idealistic sister - her head was always full to the brim with fantasy. When she walked into the wood she saw a castle, with rooms for tea and a ballroom. She saw a garden and a road of brick (because it was her favorite kind) reminding her of the way back home. She pulled out her paper and crayons and set to work straightaway.
Nicole was the realistic sister - her head was always full to the brim with information. When she walked into the wood she knew which birds were singing to her, which plants she could eat the fruit of, and she always brought her special tote of supplies to be prepared for anything at a moments notice. She pulled out her tea set and utensils and set to work straightaway.
The sisters would spend hours together in their special spot of the woods. Brooke liked to believe it was their own corner of the world, and it could be cloaked with invisibility should someone undesirable try to trespass inside (like haughty Marie, who loved to poke fun at her active imagination). Nicole enjoyed the peace and quiet and found solace here when undesirable things would happen (like the passing of their poor kitten, Simon).
For the girls, this was the place where they could be who they wanted to be (just last week they were Egyptian princesses), they could do what made them happy (Brooke wrote and illustrated several stories and Nicole perfected her French accent and learned the Latin names for most of the plants and trees), and they could leave all of the shadows of life behind. If there could ever be a heaven on earth, the sisters had found it.
Today started off like any other day; Brooke began writing down a new story she had thought of during recess that day, and Nicole was steeping mint leaves and raspberries in her teapot for her and her sister to enjoy. Father's tractor could be heard faintly in the distance and Mother had given them each a brown sack with a sandwich and an apple, knowing they would rather picnic outside than come in for lunch. Brooke was just about to introduce the conflict of her story when she was interrupted by a rustling sound in the weeds.
"What could that be?" Brooke asked her sister.
"Probably just a squirrel," she replied through sips of tea. "Father says the coyotes sleep during the day."
Brooke returned to her writing. It wasn't long before a new story developed in her head that her hand couldn't jot down fast enough...
No comments:
Post a Comment