Jorinda & Joringel

Hey,

I actually started working on this one a while ago, but it always felt kind of stiff and not-right, so I've decided to rewrite in the first person. It feels better now and seems to flow better. It is, once again, fairy-tale-based, although of course, I'm not following strictly. I've read the Brothers' Grimm version and I think there might be a Perrault version also available. Anyway, hope you like what I've got so far.

- Yelena

My arms felt like they were going to fall off. Were these buckets this heavy yesterday?

“Come on, Rinda,” she called. I watched my sister’s long, blond hair bounce against her back as she walked ahead of me.

“I’m coming. It’s just that my stubby little legs can’t keep up,” I joked.

Tia sometimes forgets that she’s taller.

“It’s three inches, not a mile,” she teased back.

She turned around, resting one of the water buckets against her hip and tapping her foot against the packed dirt as she waited for me to catch up.

I finally caught up to her and let out a heavy breath, which steamed in the September air. The days were still warm, but the sun had barely risen and the morning was chilly. I looked up to see an amused look on her face.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” she told me.

She turned and walked onward before I could ask what she meant, but I heard footsteps a split second later. It could only be one person.

“Good morning, Jorie.” I spoke without even turning around and I knew the words didn’t come out as kindly as they should.

“Good morning, Jorinda.” I could feel him smiling at me. “Good morning, Tiana.”

We walked along in a few moments of companionable silence and he kept up easily, despite Tia’s apparent rush.

“Can I help you with those buckets?” he asked, automatically reaching for one. “I mean, they look heavy and you’ve still got a while to walk.”

My bangs had fallen into my eyes and I tossed my head, flipping them back out again before I spoke.

“No, thank you,” I told him. “I have been hauling buckets from the well to the house since I was old enough to walk and I’ve never needed your help before.”

“I know you can do it on your own,” he said quietly. “I just thought that maybe you’d like a little company.”

“No,” I said. “I’m fine on my own.”

Some water sloshed out of the buckets as I said this, but he was nice enough to ignore it.

“Maybe I could see you later, then?” he asked.

I stopped to look at him for a moment. He ran his fingers through his long unruly brown hair and looked at me hopefully. I couldn’t look at those dark, hopeful eyes and tell him no.

“Yes,” I finally told him. “Later, maybe.”

The three word response seemed to be enough for him, because he slowed his pace and dropped back to the village center. Our house was the last in the village, so we walked in silence for a good fifteen minutes before we got home. I’ve always hated the trek between the well in the village square and our house, sitting on the outskirts, but it felt even longer today, as I followed Tia’s slate-grey skirts down the dirt path. I watched the skirts swish and wondered how long her silence would last.

She waited until we were out of the village proper. We were crossing the field that led to our little farmhouse when she finally piped up.

“You don’t have to be so mean to him,” she said. I could hear from the sound of her voice that her lips were pursed in a thin little line, the way they always are when she gets mad at me.

“I wasn’t mean to him,” I told her quietly. “Not really.”

I ran ahead, hoping to avoid the argument, cutting through the soft grass ahead of my sister and reaching the kitchen door first. I let the door stand open and set down my buckets of water. I could hear her footsteps outside coming closer and took a deep breath.

She stayed silent as she stomped into the kitchen. I was stunned for a moment, but then I just followed her as she began to work. I pulled apples from the larder as she sliced cheese and bread. I poured the well-water into a pitcher and set cups on the table as she set out the plates.

We were done by the time Father came downstairs for breakfast. No matter what else was wrong between us, seeing Father always made us smile.

His hair had turned gray early in life, but that was the only thing that betrayed his age. His steel-blue eyes were as focused and sharp as they ever had been and his arms and legs were well-muscled from working on the farm all his life. He smiled back at us as he plopped down into his chair.

My Medusa

She hides out within her lair,

spewing poison through the air.

A forked tongue and hissing words,

Always quiet, but always heard.

The monster creeps on fat, white paws,

bearing evil in her jaws.

See the wicked, gleaming eyes.

Hear her spreading vicious lies.

Tell the children to beware.

Not to fall into her snare.

Her joy lies in causing pain.

Always your loss will be her gain.

Always sneaking, creeping, lying.

She glories as your soul is dying.

Beware, child, of her lies.

And never look into her eyes.

It never bends

but often breaks.

It doesn't hurt

but often aches.

It's the ending

and the start

It's the most

important part

Sometimes beating,

sometimes still.

Take it, hold it

if you will.

What's yours to break

is mine to mend.

It's yours to steal.

Mine to defend.

Can you chase

my ghosts away?

Burn the shadows,

bring the day?

What's your to steal

is mine to give.

And you're the one

who made it live.

You took my fears

and made it shine.

What's mine is yours.

And yours is mine.

The Rain Part 3

She swung her legs out of bed, shivering a little as her heels smacked the cold wooden floor. Quickly and quietly, she pulled on a warm woolen dress and a sweater over that. Warm wool socks covered her feet and her leather boots were snug as she laced them up. Her slicker topped everything off. It was little protection against the chill, but it was the only waterproof thing she owned.

Opening the door of her bedroom, she saw only darkness. After all, there was no point to staying up late with nothing to get done, so her parents were already asleep in their room. She could her father’s snoring hammering through the wall. She closed the bedroom door behind her, walking down the hall as softly as she could in the heavy leather boots. Luckily, her parents were both heavy sleepers. She paused in the main room, looking out one of the windows. The rain was still pouring down. She could see the blurry form of the mountain through the small drops that rolled down the pane.

For a moment, she stood there, holding her breath, wondering if she really had the courage to go through with this, before she could force her feet to move forward, one step at a time, toward the door. She knew that this was no ordinary rain and she thought that whatever lay at the top of that mountain was the solution. And if it wasn’t the answer, it was better to know than to spend one more day trapped inside, looking out at the downpour.

And she had to do something to get those horrible images out of her head. Visions of her parents losing the farm, of starving animals and starving children played behind her eyes, and it was this that finally made her push open the front door and step out into the torrent.

The rain was cold and it sent shivers through her bones as she made her way to the path and slowly started to climb. The road wasn’t very popular. A few rare merchants used it, but mostly her village traded with other villages in the valley, so little road up the mountain didn’t receive many visitors. Under this rain it had turned into a river of mud and her boots squelched with each step. She could feel it sucking her feet downward and fought for every step forward. She wished she had never started this journey, but her feet continued to take her forward and she didn’t look back.

Cassie

The bat circled the sky, making lazy loops. I watched it from my precarious perch on the roof. It was a small black speck against the larger darkness of the sky. I lay back, letting my legs dangle over the ledge of the rain gutters. The shingles were hard and a little scratchy against my back but the breeze was nice. I could breathe up here, where the air didn’t belong to them.

It was a small rebellion, sitting up here in the cool night air. I was grounded again. They didn’t know I was up here and in the long run, it didn’t matter, it just felt nice to be by myself for a few moments, to breathe air that wasn’t full of hostility.

Sandy fell down the stairs today.

She didn’t even get hurt badly, just bruised her arms and her legs a little. It’s not something anyone would’ve been too bothered about normally, not something that would’ve made waves in our family life. Except that yesterday I told my mother that Sandy was going to fall down the stairs.

My mom had been making pasta sauce. I remember that she had the big wooden stirring spoon in her hand. She waved it at me absent-mindedly, flicking specks of bright red sauce across the white kitchen counter as she told me to leave her alone. Go watch TV, she said, staring at the recipe, finger on the page sliding through the instructions. Your sister will be fine, she said, not even looking up.

And now, looking at Sandy’s bruises, they say I pushed her. It didn’t matter that I was in my room reading when she fell or that I had no reason to hurt her. My mother looks into Sandy’s teary blue eyes and then glares up into mine. And I know that arguing won’t do me any good, just as it won’t do Sandy any good.

It was two weeks this time. And since it’ll be two weeks of scrubbing floors, doing dishes and washing windows, I open my eyes to the deep, dark September sky and take a deep lungful of the only fresh air I’m going to get for a while.

My Squirrel Friend

I started composing this one as I was falling asleep and to be honest, I'm still not completely awake, so you'll excuse how strange it is. I still think it's cute, though. Also, let me know if anyone can suggest better squirrel-language, because I'm not too fluent in squirrel.

Out in the field by the old oak tree

Where the green grass waves like the deep blue sea

With a pile of acorns as high as can be

My squirrel friend waits for me

When I wake up in the bright, bright day

I’ll run to the park so that we can play

And he will cock his little head and say,

“Chip-chip-squeaker-chooperay!”

I know that his words meant hello

And when the night came, where did you go?

In the darkness, I missed you so

But now you’re here and we can play!

And we will start with hide and seek

(I always find him by his squeak)

Into the darkened woods we’ll sneak

To where the old trees sway and creak

He’ll show the best places to run

And where to hide from the sunny sun

We’ll laugh and play till the day is done

I’ve never ever had such fun

As with my squirrel friend.

The rain part 2

The rain was still pouring down when she went bed. She curled up, pulling the covers up over her ears, but could not block out the beating of the rain on the rickety roof, like a million fingers tapping out a rhythm against the metallic covering. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, tried to focus on the sound of the breath in her chest, but then she heard it again. That strange thunder echoed in her skull. It didn’t sound like thunder at all, but like moaning. It sounded like a broken heart.

She knew she wouldn’t sleep. The rain had made sure of that for the past several nights. She would lie awake in bed, waiting for the storm to soothe itself, but it never did. And the wailing echoed in her ears until the drab grey light of morning broke through the drab blackness of the rainy night.

Earlier that night, she’d heard Father speaking to mother. They didn’t know she was listening and probably thought she couldn’t hear them over the noise of the rain. The crops won’t survive this rain, he said. He’d said that at this point, they might not have a harvest at all, that no one could buy corn that had rotted away in the ground.

She lay in bed, imagining the vegetables rotting inside the earth, the golden corn turning black and melting away. They weren’t just vegetables. No harvest meant nothing to sell. And that meant no money for food or clothes. No money to buy new seeds or fresh firewood. They had always been comfortable, with enough to eat and some to share with their neighbors, but no harvest meant an end to that. She imagined not having food on the table, empty cupboards and empty stomachs. She imagined seeing their cows and pigs half-starved.

A roll of strange moaning thunder broke through her thoughts and her eyes snapped open.

She knew she had to stop the rain.