A PIXIE CALLED EMERALD

19. October 2020 · Comments Off on A PIXIE CALLED EMERALD · Categories: Short Stories · Tags:

By Harriet Darling

A young pixie called Emerald was on his way home after finishing his job helping a sick child. It was a hot day so he decided to cut through a section of the forest that looked nice and shady. “It’ll just take a few minutes,” he assured himself. “Nothing can happen to me in just a few minutes.”

But as he started onto the path through the trees, the sun went behind a cloud and the leaf-laden branches hanging over the path cut off the warmth and light that had been there just a moment before.

Emerald, the pixie, now shivering a little from the abrupt cold, stopped short and whispered, “Oh, no.” He wondered if he should keep walking, or turn back. “Oh, there’s nothing here that can hurt me,” he told himself sternly. “It’s only trees, and I love trees.”

A dead log lay beside the path just ahead, and Emerald saw an indentation in the log where he might sit if he were tired. “But I’m not tired,” he murmured as if explaining to someone. He kept walking, but just as he passed the indentation, a large brown and green thing suddenly burst out of the log and flew straight into Emerald’s face, screeching loudly and flapping pea-green translucent wings.

After screaming in terror, Emerald calmed down a bit and assured himself, “It’s only a wood nymph.”  But he was actually terrified; the creature was twice his size, and fluttered far too close to his face, laughing and pointing at him.

He could hear the gravelly voice of the nymph jeering at him: “Little pixie, the woods are no place for you! This is my domain, I’m the one in charge here, and you are not welcome!”

Emerald squeezed his eyes shut and told himself, “That is not true; the wood nymph only belongs in tree trunks and dead logs; she is not in charge of the entire forest! She cannot hurt me, and she has no business threatening me!”

But in spite of this seeming confidence, Emerald knew that at least the nymph could flutter around his face and perhaps cause him to stumble, or fall into a hole or off a cliff. She did have a certain amount of power over a pixie. Even the fairies steered clear of wood nymphs despite their magic, which was usually strong enough to conquer most any other forest creature.

The only ones who could walk fearlessly through the forest were the elves, who were taller and stronger than any of the other magical creatures of the forest. But Emerald was no elf.

The next thing the little pixie knew, he was out of the shaded trees and running just as fast as he could on the path, which was now sunlit once again. In explanation to no one, Emerald muttered as he ran, “This is why I stay out of forests. Now let’s hurry on home before that creature comes after me.”

And he ran all the rest of the way home.

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February 13, 2018

13. February 2018 · Comments Off on February 13, 2018 · Categories: Short Stories

SNOW

Becky Treymore lived with Mama and Daddy on a very nice horse ranch in western Oregon. She loved to stare out her bedroom window into the field behind the house where a great many of her daddy’s horses ran loose.

When she grew older, her daddy let her stand outside the fence near the barn where the horses were trained. Every time she went there she picked out her favorite horse. Once it was a beautiful brown horse Daddy told her was a stallion. He walked around the ring with his head held high and his tail bouncing behind. He was shiny, and the same beautiful brown as Mama’s hair. In her head, Becky called him Chocolate since he made her think of her favorite ice cream flavor.

Once the horse she picked as her favorite was lame, and limped all around the ring. But Becky thought he was proud, and ignored whatever was causing him to limp. This horse, a gelding Daddy said, was speckled gray and white. His mane and tail were dark gray. She called him Spider because he made her think of a grey spider Daddy had caught in the barn and brought outside. She hoped it had found its way to a better place.

When she was nine, Daddy told her one of the mares was going to have a baby. She knew that a mare was a female horse, and the baby would be a very small copy of the mare. It wouldn’t be little and pink and bawling like Frankie’s baby sister. Frankie lived on the next farm down the road. Every time Mama took her there to play with Frankie, his little sister never seemed to stop bawling.

But the new baby horse, Daddy told her, was going to be hers.

“Mine?” she asked, amazed that one of those beautiful creatures she always admired might be hers. “Will it be a boy horse or a girl horse?” she asked. “I will need to know before I name it.”

Daddy laughed. “Yes,” he said, “you need to know if it’ll be a colt or a filly. A colt is a boy horse and a filly is a girl horse.”

“Then I want a filly,” Becky said. “And I think I’ll name her Belle.”

“Well,” Daddy said, mussing up her hair, “we won’t know whether it’s a filly until it’s born. You wouldn’t want to name your boy horse Belle, would you?”

Becky giggled. “No,” she said, shaking her head.  “When will the baby horse be born?”

“In just six more months,” Daddy said. “Its mother is Nightingale, the white horse just outside the barn there.”

Becky looked over at Nightingale. She was a beautiful white horse, and just at that very moment, she nickered as she looked over at Becky.

“Oh,” she cried, “Nightingale is talking to me. She’s telling me she knows her baby will be mine.”

BLOG, Sept. 20, 2017

20. September 2017 · Comments Off on BLOG, Sept. 20, 2017 · Categories: Blog, Short Stories

I promised I would post the last portion of the little story I wrote, Gorta and the Hole. I revised it and made it a short story, so the last seven pages are gone, but I’m hoping to include it in a collection of stories from prehistoric times, probably within the next few months. If I do publish it, it will be on Amazon.com, and I will make note of it on this website, if it’s still here (see the Home page for an explanation).

Meanwhile, I do have another short story you might enjoy. Here it is.

CREATURES OF THE FOREST

A young pixie called Emerald was on his way home after finishing his job helping a sick child. It was a hot day so he decided to cut through a section of the forest that looked nice and shady. “It’ll just take a few minutes,” he assured himself. “Nothing can happen to me in just a few minutes.”

But as he started onto the path through the trees, the sun went behind a cloud and the leaf-laden branches hanging over the path cut off the warmth and light that had been there just a moment before.

Emerald, now shivering a little from the abrupt cold, stopped short and whispered, “Oh, no.” He wondered if he should keep walking, or turn back. “Oh, there’s nothing here that can hurt me,” he told himself sternly. “It’s only trees, and I love trees.”

A dead log lay beside the path just ahead, and Emerald saw an indentation in the log where he might sit if he were tired. “But I’m not tired,” he murmured as if explaining to someone. He kept walking, but just as he passed the indentation, a large brown and green thing suddenly burst out of the seat and flew straight into Emerald’s face, screeching loudly and flapping pea-green translucent wings.

After screaming in terror, Emerald calmed down a bit and assured himself, “It’s only a wood nymph.”  But he was actually terrified; the creature was twice his size, and fluttered far too close to his face, laughing and pointing at him.

He could hear the gravelly voice of the nymph jeering at him: “Little pixie, the woods are no place for you! This is my domain, I’m the one in charge here, and you are not welcome!”

Emerald squeezed his eyes shut and told himself, “That is not true; the wood nymph only belongs in tree trunks and dead logs; she is not in charge of the entire forest! She cannot hurt me, and she has no business threatening me!”

But in spite of this seeming confidence, Emerald knew that at least the nymph could flutter around his face and perhaps cause him to stumble, or fall into a hole or off a cliff. She did have a certain amount of power over a pixie. Even the fairies steered clear of wood nymphs despite their magic, which was usually strong enough to conquer most any other creature.

The only ones who could walk fearlessly through the forest were the elves, who were taller and stronger than any of the other magical creatures of the forest. But Emerald was no elf.

The next thing the little pixie knew, he was out of the shaded trees and running just as fast as he could on the path, which was now sunlit once again. In explanation to no one, Emerald muttered as he ran, “This is why I stay out of forests. Now let’s hurry on home before that creature comes after me.”

And he ran all the rest of the way home.

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