Saturday's Storyteller: "Goodbye, friends. I am off to the world of lullabies and dreamscapes."
by Belinda Roddie
Goodbye, friends. I am off to the world of lullabies and dreamscapes. I am taking up an oar and rowing across the Styx where it connects to the Aegean Sea. I will take a trident to the Kraken before washing ashore onto an island where cows are revered as gods and birds carry messages from forgotten kings. And I will maintain a throne made out of coconuts, because it just seems appropriate given the climate of the area.
Some say that there is a dwarf in the fields who will give you gold if you sing him your favorite song. Then you dance, and he grows displeased. He exchanges your gold for silver due to your audacity. And yet silver is what buys you a house and helps you raise a family. Only your children are not human, but mutations of something far, far more beautiful. They are mythological entities. They are Chimaeras. They breathe fire to heat up the pot where you boil their macaroni and cheese.
And sometimes, I will see you there. I will find you petting oxen by the river that you have attempted to ford. I will braid your hair while you comment on the horns protruding from my skull. They are a mark, I will remind you, of beauty. Until I wake up, and I wonder just whether or not triple pepperoni pizza was a good thing to gorge on mere minutes before I decided to turn in for the night.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
Goodbye, friends. I am off to the world of lullabies and dreamscapes. I am taking up an oar and rowing across the Styx where it connects to the Aegean Sea. I will take a trident to the Kraken before washing ashore onto an island where cows are revered as gods and birds carry messages from forgotten kings. And I will maintain a throne made out of coconuts, because it just seems appropriate given the climate of the area.
Some say that there is a dwarf in the fields who will give you gold if you sing him your favorite song. Then you dance, and he grows displeased. He exchanges your gold for silver due to your audacity. And yet silver is what buys you a house and helps you raise a family. Only your children are not human, but mutations of something far, far more beautiful. They are mythological entities. They are Chimaeras. They breathe fire to heat up the pot where you boil their macaroni and cheese.
And sometimes, I will see you there. I will find you petting oxen by the river that you have attempted to ford. I will braid your hair while you comment on the horns protruding from my skull. They are a mark, I will remind you, of beauty. Until I wake up, and I wonder just whether or not triple pepperoni pizza was a good thing to gorge on mere minutes before I decided to turn in for the night.
This week's prompt was provided by Arden Kilzer.
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