Storytelling Week 12: Semester's End Madness

My eyes burned from staring at the screen for so long and my legs begged to be stretched. Sighing, I pushed myself away from my computer and stood up to stretch with an over-exaggerated yawn. After working on my capstone paper for the past ten hours I felt it was time to go out and get a breath of fresh air to gather my senses.

It was evening when I walked out of my apartment and headed to the nearby trail which went through a humble patch of woods. The evening air was damp and chillier than usual as I trodded down the familiar dirt path and under the trees which were finally beginning to show signs of life again with the return of spring.

Maybe I hadn't noticed it before, but fog had seemingly come out of nowhere and now filled the whole forest. Had this ever happened before? I pulled my jacket tighter around me to fight off the chill of fog and resisted the urge to look behind to see if someone or something was following me.

Foggy Woods by adeimantus on DeviantArt

Suddenly I found myself in a clearing without the spooky mist that permeated the forest. Where had this clearing come from? I couldn’t remember ever coming across it before.

A light to my left caught my eye and I turned to see a small fire and a person with bloodshot eyes feeding papers to the dying flames. His clothes were disheveled and he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in a week. I figured he was homeless and, shrugging it off, continued down the path.

I came to a stream of black running water and grimaced. Was there a pollution spill from upstream? I searched for some sizable rocks and threw them in the stream to form a path to get to the other side. After some haphazard balancing I made it across and turned to look at both the stream and the homeless man with his papers. What was going on?

“I’ve been working on that paper for too long…” I murmured, rubbing my eyes as I continued walking. I’d turn back around soon before it got too dark.

I opened my eyes and saw for a fleeting glimpse a shrouded figure with a cap gliding away from me down the path. Okay, now that was really creepy. Shuddering, I turned around and made my way back across the stream, away from the crazy person, and back to my apartment.

Once safely inside I turned on the light and yelped. The head of my department was relaxing on my sofa!

“Um…. can I offer you some tea?” I stammered, unsure of what to do. I had definitely been working too hard. These hallucinations were getting ridiculous, but I might as well run with them since I had obviously gone insane.

“Certainly.” He smiled pleasantly, standing to extend his hand to me. I took it, shaking his hand with nervous enthusiasm.

I put on the kettle and brought out a variety of different teabags on a tray and brought it out to the coffee table.

“So, er, Dr. Mickey…. what brings you here today?” I asked uncertainly.

“Well, I wanted to see how you were doing with your Capstone paper and project. I like to check on all my students this close to graduation to make sure they’re still doing alright,” he replied cheerfully, selecting a bag of Earl Grey tea.

“Uh-huh…” I said, retreating to the kitchen to pour two cups of boiling water. I brought the cups back and gave him the one I reserved for guests - a plain green ceramic mug. I kept the Nightmare Before Christmas mug for myself.

“I’m particularly concerned about my students’ mental health.” Dr. Mickey stated bluntly, steeping his tea. I gulped. Did my craziness shine like a beacon for the whole world to see?

“Is that so? Is there anything concerning about me?” I asked, opening a packet of Jasmine Green tea.

“Well, after the sights you came across in those woods, I was hoping you could tell me,” he replied cheerfully, a congenial grin on his face.

All cordiality dropped from my demeanor. “How do you know about that?” I asked, startled.

He chuckled good-heartedly, blowing the steam off from his mug before carefully sipping the tea. “Be honest with me, now. Hasn’t this semester taken quite the toll on you?”

I bit my lip and remained silent. Then I sighed and held my head in my hands. “Yes sir, it has. I’ve been trying my hardest, but sometimes it seems like I’m never going to get all this work done and that I’m never going to graduate.”

I heard another slurp from the mug. “I’m glad you’re finally being honest with yourself. For those visions you saw while out on your walk were none other than your repressed feelings about this semester. The dishevelled figure feeding papers to a dying fire was your own passion slowly dwindling with each paper you’ve churned out. That black stream was none other than the gallons of coffee you’ve consumed this semester in order to get through your assignments. And the shrouded figure was what you fear is running away from you - your graduated self.”

I stared at him in disbelief, stunned. “Well, Dr. Mickey, does this mean I’m not going to graduate at all? Are those visions four years of accumulating failure?”

“Quite the contrary,” he grinned. “You’ve admitted the truth to me, as scary as it was. For your honesty and determination, I will give you this. Use it wisely.”

I held out my hand and felt the smooth paper of my diploma slip into my palm….

… and then I awoke in my chair, the dim rays of dawn filtering in through the blinds.

I looked at my computer screen and sighed, rubbing my fingers to try and remember the silky feel of that diploma.

Oh well. Guess it's time for another pot of coffee.

Author's Note: 

This is a much more modern (and college-ized) version of 'How Cormac Mac Art Went to Faery.' In the original story, King Cormac trades his family for a magic bough that brings happiness to all when it is shaken. After a while he misses his family so dearly that he goes off into the mists to find them. The mists transport him to Faery, where he beholds many curious sites of strange things and people doing stranger things. Eventually he comes to the dwelling of the King and Queen of Faery and, after telling him why he has come, they praise his honesty and give him his family back, along with a few other goodies such as a cow that produces lots of milk and a pig that regenerates its meat if its bones are kept after eating. 

Graduation for me is fast approaching and I feel that after so much toil, so much hard work and tears, that I have earned my diploma more than anything. Of course, I didn't use the real name of the head of my department, but I felt the interaction I portrayed of the story with him was much like Cormac's interaction with the King - and hopefully my honesty will be met with due reward, too. 

Bibliography:
Title: How Cormac Mac Art Went to Faery
Book: More Celtic Faery Tales
Author: Joseph Jacobs
Year: 1895

Storytelling Week 10: Little Seal-Girl

There was once a man who lived by the sea. He made his living off of whaling and was always able to provide for himself and his wife. They had a modest home and a modest life and were content to live simply and be happy.

Two months into the spring, the wife gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. The father was beyond proud and doted on her and did his best to make sure she did not go without food, clothes, or toys.

Time passed and she grew into a robust child, full of energy and adventure. Oftentimes she would play outside her house by the shore while her father was away hunting whale. It wasn’t long before she began swimming and diving to collect shells and other trinkets to give to her mother to sew into clothes or to make necklaces with. Her father noticed and returned home one day with a young seal. He skinned it to where the pelt came off entirely and after taking the excess blubber off he presented it to his daughter.

“The days are getting colder, but I know how much you love to swim. Wear this from now on when you’re swimming and keep warm.”

The girl was delighted and every day thereafter she donned the sealskin and continued collecting treasures from the sea.

Many years passed and her father would skin bigger and bigger seals each year so that she could continue to swim in the cold. She was swimming so much that by the time she was a young lady she could pass for a seal herself whenever she was out in the water. When a pack of seals came to roost near their home in the late summer, she would swim with them and play with their pups.

Harbor Seal soaking up the sun

Image: Wikipedia

Her father and mother noticed her fondness for her seal friends and allowed her relationship with them to continue, but worry was never far from their mind. Still the girl would bring home shells and trinkets she found, but one day she came home crying.

Her mother brought her into her lap and soothed her, talking softly while peeling off the seal pelt. “There, there… what’s the matter, little one? Could you not find any shells today?”

Between sobs the girl cried, “A huge whale… he came…. he ate one of my seal friends…”

Terrified, her mother tried her best to remain calm and soothe the girl. “Perhaps then it is better for you to forgo swimming with them for a little while. You look so much like a seal in that skin that the whale could also mistake you for one….”

The girl wept all through the night and went out early the next morning to watch the sun rise over the sea. She had a plan.

When her father was about to leave to go hunt, she asked him, “Papa, where are you going hunting today?”

The father scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Out to the Northwest by those icebergs. I saw a pod of whales there earlier in the week, so hunting should be relatively easy.”

After her father had set out, she assured her mother she was going to go collect late summer greens for supper. Instead, when she was outside of view from the house, she donned her seal skin and swam to her seal friends, which were to the southeast of where her father was going.

She waited a while, scanning the waters, and finally spotted the giant whale. Taking a deep breath, she dove into the water and taunted them, swimming lazily about and splashing. It wasn’t long before the whales noticed and began chasing her.

She swam faster than she had ever swam in her life, weaving through holes in icebergs underwater and resurfacing to take great gulps of air. The whale was gaining, but she only had to go a little further to reach her father.

When she spotted his kayak, she led the whales to the left of it and then scrambled up the iceberg. She felt a tug and looked down to see the monstrously sized whale pulling down on the tail of her seal skin. She looked to her father and cried out, “It’s me, your daughter! Help!”

Recognizing his daughter’s voice, the father wasted no time and harpooned the giant whale, driving the hook deep into it’s thick skin. The whale released her tail and slid from the iceberg back down into the cold sea water.

The father helped his daughter down from the iceberg and cradled her like he did when she was a child to help ease her shock. He then tied the rope connected the harpoon embedded in the whale to his kayak and paddled back home with both daughter and whale in tow.

Since then the seals were not bothered by any whales, be they lone whales or in a pod. They continued to play with the little girl until she grew up to become a fine woman. After that, nobody knows what happened to her. Some say the skin she wore so much became one with her and she joined her seal friends as one of their own.



Author’s Note: This is a very different version of the original tale of Attarsuaq. In the original version, Attarsuaq had a boy whom he taught how to swim from the time he was a baby and when he grew older, Attarsuaq gave him a seal pelt. With this, the boy learned how to dive and hold his breath for a long time underwater. In the original story, the boy didn't make friends with the seals. The original tale was also a tale of revenge, much more serious than the re-telling I did. Attarsuaq was killed by one of the many enemies he had made over the years and his son used his seal pelt to lure his father's enemies out to sea. There, he killed them one by one to exact revenge for his father.

In this story, I left out the killing of people and instead substituted the revenge on an animal - an animal that could also be used for food, so the death wouldn't purely be out of revenge. 

I also thought the original story was an origin story for the selkie, a mythological creature that can take the form of a seal but remove the pelt to become human again. Since that wasn't the case, I decided to make it happen in my own re-telling! Ah, the beauty of creative license.

Bibliography:
Title: Attarsuaq
Book: Eskimo Folk-Tales
Author: Knud Rasmussen
Year: 1921

Week 6 Storytelling: The Lawless Heart

There was once a small but productive town at the foot of a mountain. Its citizens were hardy mountain-dwelling folk and their export consisted mostly of lumber and high-mountain grain like amaranth and quinoa.
As with all towns, crime was an issue. Thankfully, crime in this little town was kept to a minimum by the respectable chief deputy, who rode tirelessly through the town on his horse, keeping everything in order. He had been the guardian of the town for years and loved his job. His eyes were hard, but his heart was kind.

One day, as he was trotting through the main plaza while merchants pitched their wares, he caught sight of a woman with matted hair in old, ragged clothes trying to sneak away a loaf of bread.
“Stop this instant!” he shouted.
She looked up at him with wild eyes and took off through the plaza, narrowly avoiding other merchants. The deputy urged his steed after her, jumping over whole carts and people.

He chased her for blocks and finally cornered the woman in an alleyway.
 As his horse approached her, she threw up her hands in helplessness, pleading, “Please, I am hungry and my people have weathered a hard winter. I only steal because I am so poor I have no shoes for myself or my children, and we have not had anything substantial to eat in weeks. For once, turn a blind eye to my poor wretched soul. We have suffered enough.”
The deputy felt a twinge of remorse for the woman. Sighing, he stroked his coarse, black mustache and locked eyes with the woman.
“Take it. But only this once. I keep an orderly town and intend to keep it that way.”
With that, he backed his horse out of the alleyway and back out onto the street.

The Dimitor Mountains

Image: wikipedia

Many years passed and the deputy did not see her again. His town was still in order and crime was at the lowest he had ever seen. After ensuring his other officers were stationed to where the plaza would be looked after, he decided to take time off by riding out into the mountains for the weekend.
He had ridden fifteen miles out of town with his horse and was nearing a part of the forest he was not familiar with. Dusk approached, so he let his horse graze as he set up camp for the night, gathering logs from fallen pine trees for fire.
Suddenly, he heard a startled whinny and hurried back over to his campsite. A huge grizzly bear, bigger than any he had ever seen was attacking his horse! He ran, yelling and waving his hands to scare it away but the bear turned its attention away from the horse to him. The officer drew out his hunting knife as the bear charged him, only to have the beast stop mere feet from him and collapse. He let out a long, shaky breath and noticed a spear shaft sticking out of the shaggy brown back.
Looking up, he saw a familiar face… fuller, healthier, with cleaner hair and better clothes than he last remembered.
“These parts of the woods are dangerous if you don’t know your way around,” she said grimly, walking over to yank the spear out.
 “Help me skin this guy and quarter him up - I don’t live too far from here and your horse needs to be tended.”
Wordless, still shaken from his life-or-death experience, the officer nodded and skinned the beast. The moon was high as he followed the woman back to her camp.

They arrived to a makeshift village of shacks and tee-pee style tents. This woman didn’t live in a town, but a commune! Mildly horrified, the officer avoided eye contact with the members and followed the woman to her tent.
She laid down her quarter of meat on a clean hide and looked at him. “If you were anyone else, I would have turned a blind eye. We don’t like strangers in these parts. We’re a proud, free people that live by our own rules.”
Her eyes gleamed defiantly. The officer nervously stroked his mustache and sighed.
“While I don’t agree with your way of life, I am eternally grateful for you saving me. I don’t know the way back to my town, but I will not burden you for any longer than necessary.”
The woman’s hard eyes softened and she lightly touched his shoulder. “No one should be lost or without a home. We’ll mend your horse and give you shelter until you can head back.”
So the officer stayed in the commune for a month until his horse was better. By then he had learned the lawless ways of the nomads and had begrudgingly found himself liking them more and more. They had a comfortable structure all their own - even without government, they were a happy, thriving community.

The Buffalo Commune in New Mexico, 1967

Image: Summer of Love

A month turned into two. Then two months into six. He had fallen in love with the lawless woman and had nearly forgotten about his town, until one day he decided to head back.
“You musn’t,” she begged. “You’ll never come back!”
He assured her that he would return, and not to worry. As he headed back on his horse with a crude map, she wept.
After a hard journey, he came upon familiar streets. He climbed off his horse and fixed his deputy badge to his shirt proudly and strolled down the main street, looking around at boarded windows and empty yards.
Suddenly, a sharp pain gripped him and he looked down to discover an arrowhead protruding from his chest. Gasping, he fell to the ground, coughing back blood as it welled up in his throat.
He looked up and saw two rough men coming towards him, smirking.
“Ain’t no lawmen been here for a while. This town is ours now, deputy,” he heard as he took his dying breath.

Author's Note: 

The word count gets me every. Single. Time. GAH! I wanted to add so much more detail and explanation to this story, but, as always, I would exceed the word count by doing so. At least I got most of what I wanted out of it. 

This story is based on the Japanese fairy tale, "Urashima Taro and the Sea Turtle." In the original story, Urashima is fishing and spares the life of a baby sea turtle. When his life is in danger many years later, he is saved by the same sea turtle and is taken to an underwater palace where he falls in love with a beautiful princess. 

Urashima stays at the palace for an unprecedented amount of time and begins to yearn to see his parents. The princess begs him not to go, saying he'll never return if he does, but he assures her he'll be back. Of course, when he goes to visit his parents he finds out he's actually been gone for three hundred years and everything he once knew is no more. 

I tried keeping to the original theme of the story, but I think this one adopted a new moral all its own: that certain community structures might work for one group of people, whereas others need to be governed and have set laws to function correctly. I think there are some communes out there that work very well (mostly due to their small community size), but larger communities need to have law and structure to operate and function. 

The ending to this was rather quick, but again I blame the word count. It's so hard to wrap things up when you're really wanting to make it juicier. Oh, well! Such is the way of things. 

Bibliography

Title: Uraschimataro and the Sea Turtle

Book: The Violet Fairy Book

Author: Andrew Lang

Year: 1901

Read the original story here!

Storytelling Week 4: What's the password?

The leader of the most successful mafia in town, Ron had almost everything he wanted. Power, money, women… and if he didn’t have it, there was almost always some way to get it. He ran a network of crime throughout the city, just under the grid of law enforcement (at least the ones he couldn’t pay off in the first place). His members were all loyal to him and specialized in the best of mafia-related skills - weapons, computer hacking, internet security breaching, counterfeit money, etc. The citizens might not realize it, but Ron was king of the city.

But little did he know, one of his subjects was not as loyal as he would like to have believed. Her name was Islene, a dusky arabian beauty specializing in espionage. She had gotten into the business with a lust for gold and no glory and had risen in the ranks to be in Ron’s inner circle. She was in direct contact with him and was one of his most trusted partners in crime.


Ron divided the mafia’s earnings fairly, but kept the bulk of their gains locked away in a vault with a passcode that only he knew the key to. He didn’t trust anyone else with the passcode and kept it’s openings and closings tightly guarded.


Islene was as beautiful as she was crafty. Her loyalty was only to herself and she craved the money and power that lay within the vault. She vowed to get it by any means necessary - even if it meant putting other lives in danger.


She came up with a devious plan and put it into action on a day when she knew nobody else was going to be around the vault save for the guards. It was cunning and diabolical and she grinned at her own evil genius.









The original mob boss, Joe Mantegna


Image: Wikipedia





One day while Ron was out of the country in Italy visiting family, she called him saying it was something urgent. Annoyed, he went out onto the terrace and opened his phone.


“I told you to only call me in emergencies,” he hissed into the phone, irritated.


“This IS an emergency!” Islene yelled, panic rising in her voice. “I’ll explain quickly - I came in to check on everything and I heard a commotion coming from the vault room. I went in and the guards were dead and two men were in there with a bomb. I managed to take both of them out but the bomb is still going and I don’t know how to disable it!”


Ron processed this a moment, taking a deep breath. He exhaled slowly, rage and fear rushing through his body.


“How much time is left on the bomb?” Ron asked, keeping his voice steady.


“I-I don’t know… I think only a few minutes, maybe five at best.” Islene said quickly.


Ron swore and slammed his fist down on the balcony ridge. “Dammit, Islene, is nobody else there?”


“No, I checked, and there’s not enough time to call anyone. Ron, you know I would never ask this of you unless the situation was dire. I need your passcode so I can take as much as I can out of the safe.”


Automatically, “No. Absolutely not.”


“Please, Ron. I would never ask this of you, I swear it!” Islene pleaded desperately.


Ron swore again and, gritting his teeth, knew he had no other choice. “Fine. I’ll give you my passcode. Take as much as you can, but for God’s sake, get out of there alive.”


He told her the passcode and she hung up without even saying goodbye.




Ron called Islene a few minutes later and received no answer. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. Islene had tricked him. There had been no bomb, robbers, or dead guards (though she had incapacitated them when she went to go collect the vault money). She had taken away his power by fooling him with her cunning scheme.


Author's Note: This was a story from Egyptian mythology. In the original story, Ra's true name is known to only himself and it is the source of great power. Isis, desiring to know his name and thus the source of such power, tricks him and poisons him. Since she's the best healer out of all the deities, she tends to Ra and tells him the only way she can save him is if he tells her his true name. Ra resists at first, reluctant to have anyone else have access to such power. However, having no other choice but death, Ra tells her his true name and she restores him back to full health. Isis doesn't abuse the power of having his name like Islene does with the passcode, but I figure the retelling would be a little bit more realistic. Perhaps I could have drawn out the story a bit more and had Islene wait until a later date to take the money and run, but I felt the story made more sense this way.


Bibliography:

Title: The Secret Name of Ra

Book: Egyptian Myth and Legend

Author: Donald Mackenzie

Year: 1907

Read the story here!

Week 4 Reading B: Moar Ancient Egypt!

Instead of taking notes on the whole second half, I decided just to summarize and comment on the story 'The Two Brothers' (which incidentally I titled one of my own retellings last week)!

The Two Brothers:

Okay, so this story is interesting. Two brothers, Anpu and Bata, live together. Anpu is the elder, has a wife, land, oxen, the whole shebang. Bata, for some reason, has chosen to live with his brother and tend the farm for him. He leads a pretty simple but laborous life, tending to the oxen and sowing the fields. But one day, he goes in to gather seed for the field he’s just plowed and his brother’s wife is making the flirty eyes at him. Disgusted and outraged, Bata refuses her and runs back outside. Then Anpu’s wife feels she’s been humiliated and makes it look like Bata beat her when Anpu comes back in. I don’t understand this woman. She has a loving and successful husband, and his brother who may as well be like her child. Can she really be that bored?

Anyway, Anpu tries to kill Bata, Ra intervenes, plays the mediator, and tells Anpu that Bata is innocent. Bata, angry with his brother for not believing his innocence in the first place, runs away to land with acacia trees (but beforehand he tells Anpu that he'll put his soul in an acacia blossom if he ever needs him again).

His elder brother laments and dices up his wife, letting the dogs eat her (a bit drastic, if you ask me).

Meanwhile, Bata makes a hut under an acacia tree and the Gods are like, ‘you know, it’s kind of lonely out here. Let’s give him a wife.’ So they give him a lovely wife and Hathor is jealous of her beauty (because Hathor).

Then while Bata is out hunting one day, his wife steps outside and the sea spirit tries to steal her. She rushes back inside the hut, but that trifling acacia tree gives the sea spirit a lock of her hair. The sea takes it to the palace of the king, and it smells like perfume (for some reason, even though she lives in the desert amongst wild beasts). The King must have her! So he sends men, who are killed by Bata, and then a woman, to collect the mysterious nice-smelling woman. She’s brought back to the palace, tells the king all of Bata’s secrets (such loyalty), and he goes and cuts down the acacia tree which holds Bata’s soul. The moral of this part of the story is to never trust your secrets to pretty women.

Anpu discovers his brother is dead and goes to his acacia tree, searching for his soul. He finds his soul in a seed and takes the seed back to his house and places it in a pitcher of water. This seed absorbs the healing powers of the water and restores Bata back to life (keep this in mind if someone you love dies prematurely). 

An acacia blossom, where Bata said he would transfer his soul to.

Image: Wikipedia

I’m actually really curious about Ancient Egyptian necromancy. In many of the myths it was a common theme for the Gods to restore life. What other tales of necromancy are there, I wonder?

Concluding the story, Bata’s soul goes from Bull to tree, finally to boy. His ex-wife tries to finally get rid of him in each carnation, but he’s too crafty. When he’s born unto a woman, the King falls in love with him and names him Prince. When the King finally passes away, Bata gathers everyone around and tells what was done to him by his ex-wife and finally has his revenge.

He and Anpu live the rest of their days as royalty.

Honestly, this story was long, but very interesting and entertaining. I never knew what was going to happen next and it raises many questions for me about the role and magic of necromancy in Egyptian mythology. Is there really a way to put my soul into something and be reborn from it? Ah, what mysteries abound.

Bibliography: 'Egyptian Myths and Legends' by Donald Mackenzie (1907).

Read the stories here!

Storytelling Week 3: The Two Brothers

There were once two brothers who ran a small shop together. The eldest brother specialized in ordering and selling groceries and the other brother specialized in remedies and fancied himself a modest apothecary crafter.

Business was good for the first few years, but the town suffered an industrial decline and so the economy dwindled and people began to leave the small town. The brothers realized they could not continue to run their shop together and so agreed to move to different towns and run separate shops.

“Now, brother,” the elder began sternly, “since our first venture didn’t work, I think it’s only fair that we stay out of each other’s respective towns. Obviously one town cannot support the both of us.”

Distraught and saddened, the younger brother wept but agreed. “Because you are the eldest, I trust your wisdom. Farewell, brother. I will miss you dearly.” Then the two embraced and went their separate ways.

All towns were suffering a shortage of fresh food and ingredients due a steady decline in the economy, so the eldest brother was accepted quickly into the nearest town and his business thrived because he had better connections than other grocers of the area. The younger brother, however, did not fare so well.

He wandered from town to town peddling his art as a healer, but most towns were too afflicted by the lack of food and only wanted a grocer.

The healer was crestfallen and worried as the food shortage was starting to affect him too. His clothes began to deteriorate and fall apart and his face became sunken and sallow.

He spent a night in the barn of a kind-hearted farmer and wept, praying that his brother was faring better than he was. The younger sibling wished only the best for the only family he had left because without his older brother he would truly be alone.

In the morning the farmer came to the barn and gave the younger brother cheese and bread. He noticed the farmer had a wet, racking cough and offered to make him a tea using ingredients from his apothecary satchel. The farmer reluctantly agreed, but was surprised when his cough abated a few hours later.

Herbs at 'The Herb Room'

Image: JoyBrew

“You know, this has been spreading around the whole town. It’s not life-threatening, but damn if it isn’t annoying,” the farmer told the younger brother while sipping another cup of tea.

Hopeful, the younger brother thanked the farmer and headed into the town, going door-to-door and offering a cure for the cough. Everyone rejoiced that evening when the tea had taken their coughs and pains away and gave him food as payment.

The younger brother finally came to the door of the town grocer and gasped when the door opened to reveal his older brother! Joyous, the younger brother embraced him and praised that he was still alive. Annoyed, the elder brother put himself at arm's length away from his younger brother.

“What did I tell you about coming into the same town as me? There is no room here for the two of us."

Astonished and hurt, the younger brother searched his sibling's eyes for any warmth, any love he might hold for his only other family. But his eyes were cold and pitiless.

The younger brother cast his eyes down as a tear escaped. “I can see you’re not afflicted, brother, and that you’re still not happy to see me. Very well. I’ll take my leave.” 

With that, he trudged out of town to go find work in another. Eventually he became the acclaimed healer of a seaside village and went on to live a comfortable, happy life.  But he never saw his brother again.


Author's note: This story is based off of The Quarrel of the Cat and the Dog. I wrote notes for this story earlier this week and figured I could put it into a more human scenario. I've been an only child all my life, so I don't know firsthand what the sibling dynamic is like, but I took my best crack at it. Looking back, I realize I made the younger brother a bit of a crybaby in comparison to his older brother. Then again, maybe it could be interpreted that his older brother is just heartless and cruel. Regardless, I thought I would apply the Cat and Dogs' quarrel to a situation which might occur between siblings because the Cat and Dog acted basically as siblings before this huge quarrel started, and only the Cat wanted them to not be friends again due to his own selfish nature. Oddly enough, I've always grown up with both cats and dogs - they get along just fine. Maybe this myth is a little outdated, but it was still fun to re-tell nonetheless. If I were going to revise this and add more, I think I would have added more dialogue at the end instead of when the brothers reunite and the older brother is basically like, "Hey, get out of my town." Alternatively, I could have elaborated more on what happened to the younger brother after he left that town and described his adventures in coming to the little seaside village. I felt a short but sweet ending was better overall.

Bibliography:
Title: The Quarrel of the Cat and the Dog
Book: Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
Author: Gertrude Landa
Year: 1919 

Week 2 Storytelling: The Queen of the Dead

My story is not for the faint of heart. But its morals are clear: sometimes, what we need comes to us disguised as disaster.

It started one fine day in Spring. I was out gathering flowers with my friends in the glade next to the Pergus spring, known for its magical waters. The sun sifted through the trees to shine down speckled onto the flowers and shrubs below, hiding my friends and me in golden camofluage. My skirts were already filled to the hem with crocuses, lilies, violets, dandelions, and those prized Tyrian purple flowers. My heart was light and happy, in the way only a girlish heart can be.

But deep within that girlish heart was a fierce longing. Though I was still young, my first blood had come and gone and by that rite I was already a woman. My mother, proud Demeter, refused to acknowledge that the time had come for me to go find my own path, to pave out my own trail of greatness as she had eons ago. I played the part of her little girl, but the wildness in my heart grew with each passing day.

"Gathering Flowers" by Albert Lynch

Image: Medea's Lair

The daydreams which dared to take me away from my girlish prison drowned out all my other senses and in that moment that same wildness in my heart manifested itself in the form of dread black horses whisking a chariot that moved deathly silent. I saw not my kidnapper’s face, but I felt his strong arms encircle me and snatch me from my childish daydreams. I cried out in surprise rather than fear as the flowers tumbled out of my skirts and into the waters of the fabled spring. Like an ill omen, I knew those trampled flowers marked the end of my childhood.

My captor and I raced across the countryside, going so fast that my vision blurred and I struggled to see where we were going. The winds tore the cries of help from my mouth and I beat uselessly upon his chest with my fists.

A beautiful nymph tried to stop him, to dissuade him from taking me, but my captor was merciless. With one blow from his scepter he commanded the Earth to open and we plummeted down into darkness, the dank earth swallowing my cries for help.

Beyond that, nobody on Earth knows what happened next. Most think the worst of my husband, my Hades, but he did not force me as Zeus forced so many other women. He gave me a room that was a section of a cave and did not speak to me for days.

I wept bitter tears during that time. Mourner’s tears. I wept for the true end of my childhood, for the unknown future, for my surely distraught mother. I was sequestered away somewhere in Hell with no way out.

After several days - I cannot tell you how long - I ventured from my room to explore. My door was a tangle of vines which wove together to make a green curtain. Outside was a long corridor lit by glowing orbs of light. My room was the only one with a ‘door’, and the rest seemed unoccupied.

I explored for several hours and discovered that the Underworld really was not as horrible as the Olympic deities had made it out to be. There was an ethereal glowing quality to everything, even to the river Styx which glided silently by.

I came upon an orchard and realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten, so fraught with grief and shock I had been. Without thinking, I plucked a ripe pomegranate from one of the trees and savored the juice from seven seeds before the crack of a twig made me turn around.

There he stood - solemn and quiet, tall and foreboding in his black cloak. His face betrayed no emotion but his eyes burned with quiet fire. Silently, he knelt and presented a bouquet of the exact same flowers I had been picking when he stole me away.

“Your mother is scouring all of Earth looking for you. She misses you dearly,” he started, glancing upwards.

“I know.” I answered quietly, accepting his offering.

He stood, taller than night, taller than Olympus and clasped one of my delicate hands in his cold pale ones. A heavy silence hung between us.

“Forgive me. In all my eons of existence, I have never felt such passion, such reverence, such devotion, as when I set these tired eyes on you,” he confessed, sighing as his thumb stroked the top of my hand.

“I know this is not a world you are used to,” he continued, those eyes of cold fire searching mine, “but here you would rule. Here, you would stand with me, and together we would have a kingdom of the dead. No one would be able to force you or command you. You would be your own person, and….” he stopped, his gaze lowering... “Hopefully, my Queen.”

I tore my gaze from his and looked at his underground kingdom. The orchard, though in the domain of the dead, was alive and fruitful. There were springs, rivers, and even small flowers. Everything I had learned about Hades had turned out to be lies.

Queen. Queen of the Dead, Queen of a domain none of the other Gods, save for Hades, could govern.

“I accept. I will rule by your side,” I whispered, trembling. “But give me time. I am not accustomed to you or your world, yet.”

“For you, I would give all the time since the formation of the Cosmos.”

Hades and Persephone

Image: Puistopulu

My love story is not typical. One could say it started off with a bribe, but it continues to be one of the best things to have ever happened to me. I make my own rules and reign over a kingdom which even the highest of Gods trembles to visit. My fate was not so terrible as the myths made it out to be.

Author’s Note: So, if you can’t tell, I like taking stories that appear to have a dark theme and then telling them from a point of view which makes them seem not so bad. Here, I told the story from Persephone’s point of view. Maybe in the myths she truly was forced by Hades and had an awful time in the underworld, but what if that wasn't the case? What if she was just looking for a way out from under her mother’s protective wing?

It was difficult for me to tell what happened to her after the initial kidnapping because I didn't want to stick to how the original myth was told and have him 'take' her. For one, that would be very difficult to write, just because of the emotional scarring it would cause and second, I wanted to make this more of a happy story. Thus, I just had him toss her in a cell so she could figure things out.

There were many ways to tell this story; I had originally thought about telling it from the point of view of Hades, but I can't imagine kidnapping anyone, so I wouldn't be able to follow his thought process realistically. I've been hit by one of Cupid's arrows before, but not quite so thoroughly as Hades had.

I also had a difficult time conveying the color of their eyes, their composure, and just overall demeanor because these are Gods I'm writing about. To me, it's impossible to describe their beauty, the actual color of their eyes, or the grace with which they walk. That was one of the larger road blocks I ran into while writing this.

I know the writing style for this is really cheesy and prose-like, but I felt an ample helping of cheese helped to tell the story better. I promise not all my re-tellings will be this way. :)

Bibliography
Title: Dis and Proserpine 
Book: Ovid's Metamorphoses
Author: Tony Kline
Year: 2000

Week 1 Storytelling: The Babes in the Wood

There was a time, long ago, when fairies sifted in and out of our world with ease. The ‘fair folk’ they were called, and most were benevolent beings and helped humans in times of turmoil. If a farmers soil was poor, he could make an offering of last years grain and sweet cream to a fertility fairy who might then bless the land and again make it fertile. Mothers and homekeepers would leave a bowl of cream by the hearth at night to placate the house sprites and keep pixies from making a mess while the family slept.

Most fairies were very fond of children. During the day children could be seen on the outskirts of the woods, trying to catch delicate-winged sprites and playing hide-and-seek with imps. At night the will-o-the-wisps would light the streets and the children would go out and play after dinner until bed-time. But, like humans, not all fairies are good-hearted.

Many years ago in a small village in Scotland, a pair of twins played outside in a field close to home. They were not playing with fairies, but instead making small mud-huts in the hope of attracting imps to play with. The day was miserably grey and chilly, yet it was still Summer. Their breath came out in soft puffs on the wind.

The twins shall remain nameless, for we know not their names, but they were boy and girl. It was just past lunch time and then sun was heading west past it’s highest point in the sky.

The boy put the last finishing touches on the small mud-hut and his sister, with an eager grin, brought out a honey-oat cake and lay it at the front of the hut.

“Och, Mam’s goin’ ta be mad if she finds oot you didn’t eat yar oat-cake,” the boy cautioned, lecturing his twin.

“IF she finds oot! Besides, the Fae love sweet things. Shorely this will bring us fair friends!” The little girl giggled.

The boy looked to the woods close by and noticed a faint blue light flickering in the distance. Curious, he nudged his sister and then stood up and headed towards it. Obediently and of the same mind, his sister dusted off her wool mittens and followed.

They followed the light deep into the woods. Each time they came within grasping distance, the light would flicker away just before the boy could close his gloved hand around it. The girl swore she could hear soft laughter each time it disappeared.

Dusk fell suddenly and without warning. The twins had ventured deep into the woods, farther than any humans before them. They didn’t realize just how far they had come until the boy’s gloved hand finally captured the blue light - only for him to carefully peer into his hand and be met with laughter.

“Foolish human children,” a cackling, disembodied voice emanated through the trees. “Your curiosity will be your death! May your plump bodies feed my kin well.”

Only then did the twins look up, terrified and with tears in their eyes. The trees surrounded them, bare and menacing, while the stars looked down sadly. There was no moon. It was dreadfully dark and deadly cold. The children began crying, holding on to each other and calling for their mother. They had ventured too far in and no human could hear them in the woods, but fairy ears are much more sensitive. The honey-oat cake the girl had left out was being savored by an imp, who heard their cries from his new mud-hut. Alert and curious, the imp hurried into the woods, oat cake in tow.

By the time he reached the children, their cries had quieted. The cold had seeped into their small bodies and they clutched each other, their lips blue and tears frozen.

The imp recognized their scent - it was the same scent that clung to the mud-hut and oat-cake. He realized that he had come too late and shed a single brilliant fairy tear. Then, in the language of fairies, he called upon the Fairy Queen.

She appeared, radiantly beautiful and bright, with a small entourage of other fair-folk with her.

“My lady,” the imp began, bowing low, “These children made for me a lovely home and even left food for my tired body. But I fear the evil fairy woman of this wood lured them in so that they may die and feed her detested offspring. Please, do not let their deaths be for such horrid means.”

The Fairy Queen looked down at the small bodies and saw that they still had one last breath of life. Gently, she walked over to them and placed her pale hands over their hearts. As they exhaled their last breath she gathered in her palms their souls, brilliant orbs of white light.

“These children met an untimely and unjust death. But they shall prevent others from doing the same. I deem their souls now Guardians of these woods. The corrupt fairy who lives in this wood will perish without sustenance, and her offspring will meet the same fate,” the Fairy Queen stated. She blew softly on the souls and they shimmered delicately from her palms into the dark before dissipating.

Dawn approached, and the Fairy Queen recruited robins to cover the bodies in strawberry leaves, which would repel the evil fairy and her offspring from their intended meal.

The souls of the two children still guard those woods to this very day, even though the evil fairy has long since perished. You can see them in the fog or as dusk approaches as silent sentinels. The imp comes and keeps them company and sometimes brings his friends along, too. The woods are quiet except for the lament of the robins who sing,

"Poor babes in the wood! Poor babes in the wood!

And don't you remember the babes in the wood?"

The robin who sings the babes' lament

Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

Author's Note: 

This storytelling is my extended version of this nursery rhyme: 

                                                               My dear, do you know,

How a long time ago,

Two poor little children,

Whose names I don't know,

Were stolen away on a fine summer's day,

And left in a wood, as I've heard people say.

And when it was night,

So sad was their plight,

The sun it went down,

And the moon gave no light.

They sobbed and they sighed, and they bitterly cried,

And the poor little things, they lay down and died.

And when they were dead,

The Robins so red

Brought strawberry-leaves

And over them spread;

And all the day long

They sung them this song:

"Poor babes in the wood! Poor babes in the wood!

And don't you remember the babes in the wood?"

This rhyme itself is very sad, but I set out to find a way to retell the story to where it had a happier ending. I would like to point out that I know very little about fairies and which ones are nice to humans - I have no idea if an imp is a type of benevolent fairy, so if I've jumbled up castes of fairies, I sincerely apologize. 

Bibliography: 

Title: "Babes in the Wood," from the Nursery Rhyme Book. Unknown Author. 

Link: Project Gutenberg Nursery Rhymes