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A short Story written for practice.

I recently entered a competition where the short story was written in the form and style of a fairy tale but was twisted in some way. I wrote an alternate version of Rumpelstiltskin. I also wrote this orginal 'fairytale' for pratice and fun. Hope you enjoy...

The Story and the Writer
by Karen Carlsle

There once was a writer who loved writing. She spent hours with pen in hand searching for the right words  to share the images that swam in her head. One day the naughty words would not behave and she was very sad.
"I love writing," she said. "Why is it that writing does not always love me?"
The words just laughed and went off to play on their own.
Now in another part of the Kingdom there was a story just waiting to be told. It was sad as it could not find a writer to help it. No one in the town where it lived, was interested in the story and thought it not important enough to tell. The story packed up all of its words slung the bundle over its shoulder. If no one wants me I will run away, it thought.
The story wandered sadly from house to house, knocking on the door asking if anyone was interested in a poor lonely story. The story was laughed at and chased away down the street. The story then wandered from village to village but each time was ignored, chased or had things thrown at it.  If no one wants me I shall have to run away farther, thought the unwanted story.  So it wandered out of the villages into the countryside.

Before long, the story found itself deep in a dark forest. The trees were tall and misshapen and branches hung down in front of it, tugging at its bundle of words.
“I could get lost in here,” said the story as it tightened its grip on it bundle. “I must try to find someone to help me find the way out”.
Living in the wood was a grumpy old gnome who did not like being bothered. He lived under an old log. Each day, he would come out from under the log, stretch his legs and pick mushrooms for his breakfast. As the story wandered through the wood, it  happened upon the grumpy gnome as he was picked mushrooms too close to the path.
“Excuse me, I am lost,” asked the story. “Can tell me the way out of the wood?”
“Why should I help you?” The grumpy gnome looked up angrily at the story and continued to collect his mushrooms.
“I have a bundle of words and I need to find someone who needs a story,” it replied sadly. “But no one seems to need one.”
“Gah! What good is a story to me?” the Gnome replied. “Can I eat it?”  The story shook its head sadly and watched the grumpy gnome as he picked up his basket of mushrooms and ran back along the path disappearing into the wood, never to be seen by the story again.
The story sighed. Will I ever find someone who is in need of words? it thought.
Soon it came to pass, that the story happened upon a group of pixies who were partying in a shaded clearing in the wood. The story watched them as they frolicked and danced and sang and ate. He stood there for a while enjoying the music. Surely pixies would love a good story, it thought. The story tried to get their attention but none of the pixies took any notice it.  The story hung its head in sadness and slowly continued on its way feeling very unloved.
Back in the city, the writer had been searching for her words. They had decided to play hide and seek and were  not wanting to be found. The writer felt sad. If the words would not let her find them, then they would soon be lost forever. She searched her house but could not find them. She searched the garden but could find no sign of the words. They were determined not to be found.
Finally, the writer realised that the words must have run far away and decided she would have to search elsewhere for the naughty words. She wandered through the streets but found them empty of  words. The writer became very disappointed and wandered farther and farther until she came to the edge of the city. She was determined to find the missing words but was beginning to get more and more worried that they were lost forever.

After some time of searching, the writer came to a dark forest where the trees were tall and misshapen and the branches hung down in front, tugging at her face. I must find my words, she thought. She bravely faced the forest though she was very frightened indeed. As she continued on her quest, the trees grew thicker and the forest grew darker and the writer grew sadder and more worried with every step until she can walk no more. The writer sat down on a large moss covered rock and wept as she was now lost and would never find her words.
As it happened, the story had been walking further into the heart of the forest and found itself  where the trees grew thicker and the forest grew darker. In the distance, it could hear weeping and wondered who it was that sounded so sad.  It followed the sound, hoping that it could be of help and  not be chased, yelled at or ignored.  In no time at all, the story found the writer sitting on the rock under a large tree that was leaning closer and closer.

“Can I help you?” asked the story as it put its bundle down next to the writer. The writer noticed the bundle as it squirmed in front of her. She could hear a whispering noise coming from inside it and stopped crying.
“What have you got in your bundle?” she asked the story.
“Nothing important,” the story replied. “Just  words. I have travelled far, trying to find someone  to give them to but they are not wanted.”
With this, the writer jumped to her feet and hugged the story.
“I have travelled far in search of my words that ran away and I find something even better! I find words that are looking for a home! You shall come and live with me and we can write all day long!”
The story had never felt so loved and gave the bundle of words to the writer who carried the load all the way home.

And so it was that the writer overcame all of her trials and finally found the lonely story. Together they found a joy that could not be described by the non-writers in the Kingdom.  And after only a short time, all the edits and rewrites were completed and the story had a brand new life. The writer was more happy than she had ever been and they lived happily for the rest of their days... until the next story was due.
Words 1144.
copyright K. Carlisle 2013
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The musings of a born again freelance writer, artist, Costumer and Researcher who cannot decide between the universe of possibilities...

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