This is raw unedited or anything, so just take it as it is...
Ahem...
The breath of winter bit her lips in the early morning light. Charmed as she was by the stoic progression of the seasons, it never seemed to impress her all that much. The awkwardness of walking on cold-hardned mud always removed the pleasure from a walk in the October mornings.
Despite her grievances, she did love one things about fall no matter what -- scarves. Hers was a motley collection of colours tasteful for the season. Pashmina; it was soft, light, and warm against the gusts of wind. When you had a good scarf there was nothing in the world that could get in your way; not even an early winter. With her pashmina scarf, she walked forward with a smile; a power in her stride that challenged the elements.
There were things she would remember on walks like these with her scarf and the morning ahead. The kitchen and the kettle. The whistle when tea was ready. Her mother, sugar cubes, and sweet biscuits. These memories made her smile, but not like her scarf did. It was a smiled layered with grief and heavy longing.
A lock of her green hair falls free from a sudden gust rushing across the fields. She flicks it back in place behind her ear and adjusts her sack. It's a rough road and she thinks of how far she still has to go.
She notices the old forest trail as she passes by. It used to be called the fairy road some time ago by her and her sister. It led to a magical cove with an old abandoned cottage where the fairies lived. They used to play all sorts of games there in the vibrant summers of youth. The fairies were hiding of course and their favorite game was trying to find them.
She came to a stop and turned back towards the trail. Home can wait. The path was beginning to be grown over by the surrounding forest and the fallen autumn leaves formed a sort of "yellow brick road." Feeling some excitement rise up within, she kicked up the leaves as she went. She felt like she was visiting some fantasy come-to-life; suddenly Neverland could be a real place and Tinkerbell would fly out of the woods at any moment to take her away. Memory had become a myth in her life and for the first time she was witness to evidence that her childhood actually happened... it wasn't make belief.
The cottage was missing most of its roof and all of the windows. The rest of it appears to have survived the years and weather quite well. The little cove must've been magical after all. She had to force the old door off its rusting and cumbling hinges. Inside, plants and decay had uplifted many of the floorboards. The air was still here. It smelled like the kind of age that remained timeless and never moved. Almost everything, despite the damage, was just as she remembered it.
The fantasy world she grew up in began to pull itself over her eyes. She could hear the laughter of her sister in an exposed corner of the cottage. The sun shone brighter and for a moment it all came back to her in a vivid waking dream. The warm early summer breeze gently blew, filling the air with lazy dandelion fluff from the cove outside. Her sister brought in a bouquet of the flowers in for the fairies. Her child-self followed suit and they both placed their flowers by the little stone fireplace. That was when they both vowed to believe in magic and fairies forever.
She turned to leave. She remembered the promise and had forgotten it until now. The world outside this cottage was devoid of fairies. No one knows why or when it happens, but girls like her grow up. Sobering moments and the trials of life had taught her that there was no such thing as magic. She could no langer stand the sight of the cottage or the fantasies it kept in the decaying walls. Her presence spoiled its very existence.
---- feel free to critique if you'd like. I just wrote it while having coffee this morning.
Ahem...
The breath of winter bit her lips in the early morning light. Charmed as she was by the stoic progression of the seasons, it never seemed to impress her all that much. The awkwardness of walking on cold-hardned mud always removed the pleasure from a walk in the October mornings.
Despite her grievances, she did love one things about fall no matter what -- scarves. Hers was a motley collection of colours tasteful for the season. Pashmina; it was soft, light, and warm against the gusts of wind. When you had a good scarf there was nothing in the world that could get in your way; not even an early winter. With her pashmina scarf, she walked forward with a smile; a power in her stride that challenged the elements.
There were things she would remember on walks like these with her scarf and the morning ahead. The kitchen and the kettle. The whistle when tea was ready. Her mother, sugar cubes, and sweet biscuits. These memories made her smile, but not like her scarf did. It was a smiled layered with grief and heavy longing.
A lock of her green hair falls free from a sudden gust rushing across the fields. She flicks it back in place behind her ear and adjusts her sack. It's a rough road and she thinks of how far she still has to go.
She notices the old forest trail as she passes by. It used to be called the fairy road some time ago by her and her sister. It led to a magical cove with an old abandoned cottage where the fairies lived. They used to play all sorts of games there in the vibrant summers of youth. The fairies were hiding of course and their favorite game was trying to find them.
She came to a stop and turned back towards the trail. Home can wait. The path was beginning to be grown over by the surrounding forest and the fallen autumn leaves formed a sort of "yellow brick road." Feeling some excitement rise up within, she kicked up the leaves as she went. She felt like she was visiting some fantasy come-to-life; suddenly Neverland could be a real place and Tinkerbell would fly out of the woods at any moment to take her away. Memory had become a myth in her life and for the first time she was witness to evidence that her childhood actually happened... it wasn't make belief.
The cottage was missing most of its roof and all of the windows. The rest of it appears to have survived the years and weather quite well. The little cove must've been magical after all. She had to force the old door off its rusting and cumbling hinges. Inside, plants and decay had uplifted many of the floorboards. The air was still here. It smelled like the kind of age that remained timeless and never moved. Almost everything, despite the damage, was just as she remembered it.
The fantasy world she grew up in began to pull itself over her eyes. She could hear the laughter of her sister in an exposed corner of the cottage. The sun shone brighter and for a moment it all came back to her in a vivid waking dream. The warm early summer breeze gently blew, filling the air with lazy dandelion fluff from the cove outside. Her sister brought in a bouquet of the flowers in for the fairies. Her child-self followed suit and they both placed their flowers by the little stone fireplace. That was when they both vowed to believe in magic and fairies forever.
She turned to leave. She remembered the promise and had forgotten it until now. The world outside this cottage was devoid of fairies. No one knows why or when it happens, but girls like her grow up. Sobering moments and the trials of life had taught her that there was no such thing as magic. She could no langer stand the sight of the cottage or the fantasies it kept in the decaying walls. Her presence spoiled its very existence.
---- feel free to critique if you'd like. I just wrote it while having coffee this morning.