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Posts Tagged ‘“The Aspiring Writer’s Journal”’

Master’s daughter always gives the greatest gifts. I have received a Japanese tea set, a miniature Stonehenge (we’re still waiting for a Scottish fellow to time travel through), a circular knitting sock kit, complete with a neat bag, and “The Aspiring Writer’s Journal.” 

Too bad she can’t give me a better memory, because I know there are more neat gifts, but I cannot remember them at this moment.  They are always a delight and a complete surprise, and will be again when I find what I have done with them.

 

So, my inspiration for today, (“Ahem! Ahem!” She cleared her throat.) is a page in the Writer’s Journal, she gave me.

 

The assignment is:—  Make up a story beginning with the following quotation-

“When Sleeping Beauty wakes up, she is almost fifty years old.”

 

I have changed the opening line, but the premise is there.

 

(Okay, I cannot believe I am going to embarrass myself this way, but what the heck?  Here it is, complete with errors in punctuation and dangling participles.)

~~~~~~~~~~~

  

Sleeping Beauty woke from her near eternal sleep and gasped for air.  My, how tight my corset doth feel.  Hands above her head, she stretched—and screamed.

 

 “Spots! What are these spots! There are brown spots on my hands and arms?”

 

Blankets flew as she surged to the mirror, her body half bent over. 

 

“Kricky!” she said, being a fan of British blogs.  “Oh my aching back! Heads will roll for not removing the peas under my mattress and, speaking of pees, I do believeth I am damp.  What, in blazes, goeth on?”

 

Lines stared back from the mirror.  These were the final insult as Sleeping Beauty, who was all of eighteen when she fell into her near eternal sleep, ‘twas now fifty.  She  lay sobbing into her pillow, for no handsome Prince would search for a wrinkled Sleeping Beauty, she feared.

 

In a far distant land by the sea, gallant Lord Viggo, some years younger but no longer a youth, lived. He could feel her sorrow and confusion.

 

“Hark!” He called. “I shall scry for the sound of sorrow I hear.”

 

And, scry, he did.

 

“She ‘tis a vision of loveliness to me.” He said as he peered into the water.  “A woman of wisdom and experience. No petulant youth need I put up with. And, her smile sets my heart free.”

 

‘Twas but a journey half way cross the land, to the woods where the beauty lay sleeping and where he dried her tears and they lay on the swing of her porch and watched the stars for a near eternal life.

THE END

 

I shall go and hideth my head under the pillow now.

 

 

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