Bree
March 5th, 2008, 11:32 AM
(This was one of those ideas that just sort of, appeared, in my head after coming home one night. I couldn't shift it so I wrote it down, and now I'm interested to know what happens to this girl. The start is weak, I need to work on it soon.)
In a distant land, beyond the crashing seas, crumbling mountains, and peaceful forests, there is a field. To the ordinary person, it is simply that. A field. Not too big, not too small. The grass grows not to long, only up to one’s shin, and it smells sweet and fragrant. In the middle of the field sits an old tree, gnarled and proud. It has been there for centuries, and none know of its origin.
Yes, it is simply a field to those with an untrained eye. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet to those who can truly see, those with a gift, it holds something much more. They can see this field for what it really is. One of these people is a young girl, a girl of simplicity. Simple features, a simple life and a simple family. She holds all of this, and an incredible gift, a vision.
She is there now; walking through this very field I am telling you about. She can hear her name being called in the distance, but she ignores it, walking further and further away from her town.
She goes barefoot, wild – eyed and hungry mouthed. Hungry for words, and there is no better place to be than the field of words when one is hungry for them.
The girl paces slowly through the field, the letters clinging to her dress like the pollen from a lily as she picks the sweet tasting words from their stems and places them in the vase of her mouth. Their petals dissolve slowly in her mouth, filling her taste buds with words. Words of splendour and brilliance fill her, and she turns, and walks home. As she walks, she digests these great words, mulling over them. She stops at a spring, and drinks deeply. The fresh, cool water slips down her throat, watering the words.
The words blossom in her. Fresh, new flowers spring up in her mind, and spread along her tongue once more. But these are not the words she ate only moments before, these are her own words. They are her best friends, her advisors, and she uses them well.
She smiles as they fill her mouth, and overflow, drizzling out through her soft, red lips, until she can hold them no more. She opens her mouth and speaks the words, letting them pour out of her mouth, like a great waterfall of words. Words of passion and pride, brilliance and power, splendour and wonder fall on to the ground at her feet. The people of the town hear her words, and are filled with a strange desire. For what they do not know, but it is there, the seeds of wanting planted deep in their minds. They go to the young girl, picking up the fallen words as they go, praising her.
The young girl’s smile widens, as she gives the words out to the people.
She has the world at her feet.
She is the Word Keeper.
And this, my friend, is her incredible story…
In a distant land, beyond the crashing seas, crumbling mountains, and peaceful forests, there is a field. To the ordinary person, it is simply that. A field. Not too big, not too small. The grass grows not to long, only up to one’s shin, and it smells sweet and fragrant. In the middle of the field sits an old tree, gnarled and proud. It has been there for centuries, and none know of its origin.
Yes, it is simply a field to those with an untrained eye. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet to those who can truly see, those with a gift, it holds something much more. They can see this field for what it really is. One of these people is a young girl, a girl of simplicity. Simple features, a simple life and a simple family. She holds all of this, and an incredible gift, a vision.
She is there now; walking through this very field I am telling you about. She can hear her name being called in the distance, but she ignores it, walking further and further away from her town.
She goes barefoot, wild – eyed and hungry mouthed. Hungry for words, and there is no better place to be than the field of words when one is hungry for them.
The girl paces slowly through the field, the letters clinging to her dress like the pollen from a lily as she picks the sweet tasting words from their stems and places them in the vase of her mouth. Their petals dissolve slowly in her mouth, filling her taste buds with words. Words of splendour and brilliance fill her, and she turns, and walks home. As she walks, she digests these great words, mulling over them. She stops at a spring, and drinks deeply. The fresh, cool water slips down her throat, watering the words.
The words blossom in her. Fresh, new flowers spring up in her mind, and spread along her tongue once more. But these are not the words she ate only moments before, these are her own words. They are her best friends, her advisors, and she uses them well.
She smiles as they fill her mouth, and overflow, drizzling out through her soft, red lips, until she can hold them no more. She opens her mouth and speaks the words, letting them pour out of her mouth, like a great waterfall of words. Words of passion and pride, brilliance and power, splendour and wonder fall on to the ground at her feet. The people of the town hear her words, and are filled with a strange desire. For what they do not know, but it is there, the seeds of wanting planted deep in their minds. They go to the young girl, picking up the fallen words as they go, praising her.
The young girl’s smile widens, as she gives the words out to the people.
She has the world at her feet.
She is the Word Keeper.
And this, my friend, is her incredible story…