Not a stumbling satyr or a stumbling sausage-maker? I am... strangely saddened. But still, you have the task of prompting every day so I probably shouldn't complain :)
Stumbling The goblin took Danya's hand and led her away, ignoring her bright chatter, her observations of the world around her, and her impetuous, curious questions. None of which stopped her: she marvelled over the goblin's olive skin and the warty encrustations across his forehead and around his elbows, she stared, amazed, at bright golden flowers on a prickly-thorned bush until he tugged firmly on her hand and dragged her stumbling on, and she pointed out a family of sickly hedgehogs that fled when they knew they'd been spotted. Finally, long before Danya had run out of things to point out and talk about, they came to a tall tower built of blackened steel and clouded glass. The goblin halted at the door and a bilious yellow light appeared above it and shone on his face.
"Tower tall, tower strong, Unlatch your door to admit this one. Hold her here for time so long None remember that she is gone."
sang the goblin in a cracked, warbling voice. "You can sing!" exclaimed Danya as the goblin pushed her into the tower, through the dark doorway that had opened. There was a step down inside and she stumbled forwards, and when she turned to talk to the goblin again, the door had closed already. And it refused to open, no matter how carefully she explained to the silence that she needed to leave and get back to her family.
The tower had many, many floors and she tired of exploring them after the first three. There were so many rooms she lost count; the doors sometimes opened themselves, sometimes had to be forced open and sometimes stood sullenly refusing to let her pass. She found chairs and tables laid out in geometric patterns; kitchens that hadn't been used for so long that the dust was five centimetres thick over cups and plates; old furniture that creaked alarmingly when she sat on it or leaned on it; cupboards full of paper and pens and paperclips and notes with a single sticky edge that could be stuck down and peeled off again. When she finally found what seemed like a house in miniature on the fourth or fifth floor and a bed that she could beat the dust from, she fell asleep. The next day, climbing higher still in the tower, she found a kitchen that had food in it and then above that a floor that was filled with books and machines that glowed brightly when she touched them and showed more writing. AT first she struggled to read, remembering the letters that her mother had taught her with the stumbling efforts of someone who had barely needed to read, but slowly as the days and weeks passed in solitude she gained fluency and confidence and, without considering what she was doing, learned. And as she learned she found that the building contained yet more floors and the equipment they held could be used to make her learning more practical. Years passed by though she didn't know it or count them, and steadily she understood more and more of the world that had passed when the Lord Imperator died.
Love the unstoppable innocence of the beginning compared to the unquenchable thirst for learning at the end. It... somehow gives me hope for something good coming of this tale.
2 comments:
Not a stumbling satyr or a stumbling sausage-maker? I am... strangely saddened. But still, you have the task of prompting every day so I probably shouldn't complain :)
Stumbling
The goblin took Danya's hand and led her away, ignoring her bright chatter, her observations of the world around her, and her impetuous, curious questions. None of which stopped her: she marvelled over the goblin's olive skin and the warty encrustations across his forehead and around his elbows, she stared, amazed, at bright golden flowers on a prickly-thorned bush until he tugged firmly on her hand and dragged her stumbling on, and she pointed out a family of sickly hedgehogs that fled when they knew they'd been spotted. Finally, long before Danya had run out of things to point out and talk about, they came to a tall tower built of blackened steel and clouded glass.
The goblin halted at the door and a bilious yellow light appeared above it and shone on his face.
"Tower tall, tower strong,
Unlatch your door to admit this one.
Hold her here for time so long
None remember that she is gone."
sang the goblin in a cracked, warbling voice.
"You can sing!" exclaimed Danya as the goblin pushed her into the tower, through the dark doorway that had opened. There was a step down inside and she stumbled forwards, and when she turned to talk to the goblin again, the door had closed already. And it refused to open, no matter how carefully she explained to the silence that she needed to leave and get back to her family.
The tower had many, many floors and she tired of exploring them after the first three. There were so many rooms she lost count; the doors sometimes opened themselves, sometimes had to be forced open and sometimes stood sullenly refusing to let her pass. She found chairs and tables laid out in geometric patterns; kitchens that hadn't been used for so long that the dust was five centimetres thick over cups and plates; old furniture that creaked alarmingly when she sat on it or leaned on it; cupboards full of paper and pens and paperclips and notes with a single sticky edge that could be stuck down and peeled off again. When she finally found what seemed like a house in miniature on the fourth or fifth floor and a bed that she could beat the dust from, she fell asleep.
The next day, climbing higher still in the tower, she found a kitchen that had food in it and then above that a floor that was filled with books and machines that glowed brightly when she touched them and showed more writing. AT first she struggled to read, remembering the letters that her mother had taught her with the stumbling efforts of someone who had barely needed to read, but slowly as the days and weeks passed in solitude she gained fluency and confidence and, without considering what she was doing, learned.
And as she learned she found that the building contained yet more floors and the equipment they held could be used to make her learning more practical. Years passed by though she didn't know it or count them, and steadily she understood more and more of the world that had passed when the Lord Imperator died.
Greg - probably shouldn't... but probably will :P
Love the unstoppable innocence of the beginning compared to the unquenchable thirst for learning at the end. It... somehow gives me hope for something good coming of this tale.
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