MC's Whispers

Whispering Silences

Archive for the tag “tale”

The invisible rope

https://www.crissysmith.net/imadh/crissysmith/a-handfasting-is-an-old-pagan-custom-that-dates-back-to-the-time-of-the-ancient-celtics-it-was-a-celtic-marriage-ritual-where-two-people-declare-a-binding-hand-tying-ceremony-wedding-2-983-x-702.jpgThere is a story the elders of a native tribe used to tell the youth when couples were forced to separate often for days on expeditions outside the village in search for food and resources.

There is an invisible rope that binds two people once they fall in love. That rope keeps them together but not tied to one another. It is what joins them and draws them back to each other when they drift apart. But when one of them reacts and tugs at it as if in an attempt to cut it loose, the rope becomes thinner but it still remains there. It only disappears when both sides decide there is nothing there to keep fighting for. When their relationship has lost all the love, understanding and support it once had and once they stop caring for each other. Like everything in life, relationships are only as strong as you care for them, as the love you put into them, and as the effort you devote into keeping them alive. The point of the rope is to demonstrate the distance between two people is supposed to make their relationship stronger, because it shows them how much the other means to them, how much they fill each other’s lives and how much they want each to be on each other’s side. The rope is supposed to become stronger with the distance, otherwise it is not even worth it.

A shining star in a dim sky

https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GV1XqVMta2c/V9OWt2dc12I/AAAAAAAAE2k/FynYSq2JkNMytbviNilB41CD2JSBpt7JgCLcB/s1600/shining-star.jpgThere is a story an elderly monk used to tell his young novices:

“There was a star born one night in the darkness. Its light was dim and it could hardly be seen in the night sky. No-one really even knew it was there. It existed unnoticed. The star was upset and disappointed. It felt invisible. But as time passed it was growing in size. Disheartened as it was with life, its shine was still absent. A dim star is one that hardly exists. Other stars gathered beside it, bigger or smaller, they were certainly brighter. The star – that was no longer little – became even more upset. It was discouraged by the competition. One night it heard a little girl point to the sky and shout in amazement “look at all the bright lights!”. The star felt for the first time noticed. And for this,  it wanted to make its presence even more prominent. So it tried with all its heart to shine the brightest. And suddenly the entire sky lit up. The sky was hiding its glow within it; over the years it had gathered so much light but failed to find a way to transmit it. Or rather, a reason to do so. It’s difficult to be a shining star in a dim sky. But you should never allow the fear of glowing too brightly from dimming the shine you have within you. And knowing that you’re bright all alone. No need to be compared with anyone else.”

Also part of Daily Prompt: Dim

Words of the wise

roller-coaster“Do you remember what it was like the first time you got on a roller-coaster? The excitement you felt when standing in line, the thrill that engulfed you as you took your seat, the adrenaline rush, the fear and the nausea, and the pleasant relief at the end? Life is like that. Like a roller-coaster. Love is like that too. In time you learn to become stronger and wiser. But that does not mean you stop loving. Or living”.

Grandma May always had a way with words. Her voice was as soothing as a hot cup of chamomile tea. And she always knew exactly what to say at precisely the right moment. Tricia could think of no other person to turn to whenever she needed a word of advice, a shoulder to cry on, or simply a hug.

Ever since she was a young child, she would run to Grandma May whenever she scraped her knees and needed consolation, whenever she would fight with her parents for some reason or other, whenever she felt betrayed by her friends, and, above all, whenever she experienced a heartache. The latter was Grandma May’s specialty. It was not everyone who could mend a broken heart. But Grandma May knew all too well what it felt like, enough to be able to convince even the most heartbroken of creatures that they will survive. She never told Tricia what she herself had gone through in life. Even when she outright asked, Tricia would never get a clear response, only some sort of wise-person talk, like something Yoda from Star Wars would say.

“How can you be so sure that a love like that will come again? What if that was it? If you had your chance and you missed it? Where will I ever find someone who loves me as much? Who will care for me so? Who will I find to match with so perfectly?”

Tricia was firing out questions as if her torso was a machine gun that had been kept silent for too long. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she lay in Grandma May’s arms and wondered how life can go on after such intense pain.

Grandma May had brought tissues, tea, cookies and a blanket. And she decided to tell her a story.

“A long time ago, when there were enough women and men to form communities, the first heartache appeared. For now, people were free to choose who they wanted their partner to be. When a pair was formed it was usually for life. But on rare occasions, the couple split. They simply decided they could not continue on the same path together because their thoughts were heading on two different trains. I know you’re probably wondering what these prehistoric people were thinking about, but I’ll have you know that ever since our hearts began to beat, our minds began to think. The couple who split up ran to their own families and asked exactly the same questions you do now. It is natural. Everyone does. It is part of the process. The wisest man in the village – he also happened to be the eldest – took each aside on separate occasions and told them this: In our lives, we all must pass through different stages in order to grow. Just as we go through extreme jubilation when we are happy, we also go through severe depression when we are sad. But our minds and bodies have developed their own mechanism to deal with these roller-coasters. It is something you may know as the Kübler-Ross model, or more simply the five stages of grief. It consists of the stages we go through in order to, in a sense, mourn for a period of our lives that has passed. In these five stages we go through denial (refusing to accept that this phase in our lives is over); anger (at everything and everyone for having led to this); bargaining (in an attempt to make things right if something else where to be done or if we tried harder); depression (because you begin to realize that you have to go on alone, no matter how much you may miss your previous life phase); and acceptance (when you truly acknowledge the fact that life goes on and you must rejoice the memories and become stronger through the experience). It is our process for recovering, becoming more resilient and moving one. Above all, however, it takes time. And just like every heartbroken soul that came after this couple, we all survive. It takes time and patience and lots of strength, but it does work. Keep yourself busy – but don’t forget. Learn new things – but don’t regret. Become tougher – but don’t stop being kind. You will get through this. Everyone always does.”

Tricia was watching Grandma May dumbfounded. She had stopped sniffing and sat there mesmerized by her words. She had nothing to say. No words could come forth to be uttered at this moment. Maybe it was better that way.

So, she got up and brought a board game for her to play with wise Grandma May.

Gladstone’s alter ego

unluckyRoy never thought he was lucky. He had bought a lottery ticket more times than he could remember but never won. Ever. He would always be off by one or two numbers. But despite the absence of Lady Luck, he got along in life pretty well.

Well, until one rainy day. That’s when he realized he wasn’t lucky at all.

He was already late for work that morning because his alarm clock had stopped working in the middle of the night. So he had to rush out the door, stepping into a huge puddle, getting sprayed on by two cars that sped past him, and missing the bus to work. As he waited at the bus stop for the next one, he got struck by lightning the minute he opened his umbrella. Luckily, he suffered no harm. The hospital was nearby.

By the time he got to work it was nearly midday. His boss was not understanding at all, due to a meeting that had gone terribly wrong and budget cuts being introduced. Roy was simply the wrong person at the wrong time. He was placed on probation for a week and had to return home.

This time he managed to catch the bus that had just pulled over at the stop. He jumped in, but only a few stops later a conductor boarded and fined him sixty times the price of the ticket he did not have for rushing to catch the bus.

As he arrived back home, he turned on the TV to get his mind off this terrible day. The TV caused a power outage, which blew the fuse and burnt all the light bulbs. Upset (and a little scared about what else might happen), Roy curled into bed and fell asleep.

The next day, however, wasn’t much better. Roy woke up with a huge zit on his forehead, as if attacked by a giant mutated mosquito. He ordered in food and was delivered the wrong order by mistake, which of course was much less than what he wanted. When he called to complain, they told him no refunds could be made because he had already accepted it.

When he went out to the nearest ATM to withdraw cash to order food that he actually liked and could eat, the machine ate up his credit card and would not give it back. The bank told him it was his fault for not pulling it out. His card was cancelled and he would receive a new one in three working days. It was Friday.

Roy crept back into his apartment, feeling as if Lady Luck had cast a curse on him. He wondered if he was Gladstone Gander’s unlucky alter ego, and if his town was in a parallel universe to Duckburg. Maybe that would explain all these misfortunes.

During the weekend, Roy slept in and decided to not even attempt to exit the house. Who knows what catastrophe loomed out there?

Instead, he took his computer and started writing. By the end of the week, he had written a complete novel. On how an unlucky person can survive and thrive. He sent it to a friend of his who was a publisher. He was almost certain he would be laughed at, but it was worth a shot. Everyone else gets published with worse ideas, why not him?

Within three months, the book was published and became a best seller. Maybe Roy’s luck was finally changing…

A fish called Jerry

cartoonfishThere aren’t many stories about fish. Well, apart from Nemo that got lost and they had to make an entire movie to find him. But he doesn’t really count, because he wasn’t a fish in a bowl.

Like Jerry.

Jerry was a cute little fish. As cute as fish can actually be, that is.

He was sneaky too. Because as he stood (?) silently in his bowl hardly moving, suddenly when no-one was looking he would flip out of the water, do a tiny twirl and return to his original position as if nothing happened. And then his owners were left wondering where the water surrounding the bowl came from. They even checked for leaks, but little did they know that their wet pet was an acrobat.

Yes, Jerry was a special kind of fish.

The smart kind.

He learned a lot by watching the National Geographic channel when his older owner was around. He had a clean view of the big-screen HD TV from his bowl, and unless it was really cloudy due to delays in cleaning, he would watch particularly the sea-animals episodes and soak everything in.

That is from where he learnt to flip. From watching dolphins.

One day, his younger owner, a kid who was as tall as the height of the fish bowl itself, caught a glimpse of Jerry’s backflip. He screamed and yelled all excited and jumped up and down, pointing at the fish bowl, but no-one would believe him. They thought he was making things up. After all he was just a kid. And Jerry was just a fish.

But Jerry’s acrobatic stunts became the kid’s little secret. Better if only he knew. Who knows what they would do to Jerry if they knew how special he was! There would be film crews and cameras lined up, and they might even place him in a zoo, or worse yet a museum! And no, the kid didn’t want that. Jerry was his friend. He would stand there and stare at him inside the bowl and Jerry would return a “huba huba” with his open mouth and just stare back. And when the kid pretended he wasn’t looking, he would perform a flip.

The kid could swear that one day he saw Jerry wink at him.

Imagine if he knew Jerry could also talk!

Searching for gold

saupload_bread-crumbsI was climbing up this tall wooden wall. It seemed like forever until I reached the top. But uncle Crump had said it was definitely worth it. There would be gold at the top.

So I climbed and I climbed. Tip and Tat and many others also followed. But I was the only one moving with haste, yet with grace at the same time. Not to appear vain or anything, but that was what I was known for. Excelling…with style!

The top was indeed filled with gold. It was spread around as if scattered from a raincloud. Untouched and so pure. Everyone just stopped and admired the sight before digging in. Greed is universal, you see.

But the problem wasn’t getting up to the top to find the gold. The problem was carrying it back down.

So, just like all these other companions of mine, I loaded up a few pieces and set on the way down. The storage rooms where down there so we had to make the trip a few times. But that was ok. We were used to it. That was part of our life anyway. We were hard workers. Why everyone treats us so badly, I don’t understand. Coz’ the worst part is when the screaming and swearing and bashing begin…

Suddenly my companions were being swept away, flicked off the top, blown off, washed away, and it was everyone for himself now. We had to let go of many of our pieces and only hold on to the most vital ones so as not to jeopardise our own survival. There was no real place to hide…It was open air out there. And then it happened…

I was hit…

Flying into the air…

The screaming was deafening…Hers, not mine. Because I really don’t understand why Mrs Peterson keeps shrieking every time she sees us trying to help get rid of the crumbs left on her counter. We’re actually doing her a favour.

It’s tough being an ant…

 

Also part of Trifecta Writing Challenge; the prompt word was GRACE (noun):

3 a : a charming or attractive trait or characteristic
b : a pleasing appearance or effect : charm <all the grace of youth — John Buchan>
c : ease and suppleness of movement or bearing

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