The "Creative Writing" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
All I do is stand here every day, under the deep green cover of leaves and branches reaching outward in an attempt to touch something, anything. But no-one notices me any more.
It started, as these things tend to do, with a trip to the pub. I'd been working with friends in a small Cornish town for the week. We were just having a couple of drinks to unwind after a long week of work and the conversation came around to talking about Halsdon hill. The locals were telling us that it had been a folk tale for generations, the fairies were said to bewitch travellers who accidentally took the secret path and interfered with their solstice dances. None of them would ever go up there at night, even outside of the summer months, for fear of what they’d find.
Being of modern mind, I sniffed at any ideas of fairies and other stupid folk tales. After all, we all know they don’t exist, they’re just in the minds of writers, laying down stories to entertain children before bedtime. Alcohol made me boastful (and stupid, I’ll admit that now). What’s the worst that could happen on a plain grassy hill? Getting in the forest wasn’t an option, it was so small, even a fool would be able to find their way out. I stood up and proclaimed to the world my intentions. The locals looked nervous and began muttering, my friends just laughed and coaxed me on.
So we left the pub and headed for the hill. At first a great crowd followed me on my incredible voyage, but slowly the villagers ebbed away and even my friends decided to stay behind. Only an old man with a long white beard carried on behind me until we were half way up the hill. He put a hand on my shoulder and I turned.
“You really want to go through with this?” He said, trying to frighten me in to turning around.
“Old man, I stopped believing in fairies and goblins when I was 5. What harm can a small hill do?”
He studied me for a short while, then seemed to make up his mind. “Very well. You’ll need to know the secret way, then.”
He showed me an old piece of paper marked with a path around the forest. It looked ancient and had drawings of small creatures. But they didn’t look like any fairies I’d seen in books. There was something about them that made me suddenly uneasy, despite the drink still sloshing around inside me. I thanked him and set off again, noticing that he would go no further.
Keeping to the path on the map, I began to get bored. How would anyone even know I went through the secret path if there was no one to watch me? I picked up some gravel from the floor and started to throw it at the trees as I walked nearer towards the wooded area so feared by the locals.
It was then I felt a sharp pain in my head. I rubbed the spot and felt a small stone, just like the one I’d thrown, in my hair. ‘Must have bounced off a tree’ I thought, and carried on. I threw another stone and the same pain hit me in the back of my head. This time I was sure that the stone wasn’t the same one I’d thrown. Someone must be playing a trick. I turned around but no-one was there. Probably behind a tree. I shrugged and carried on.
A few steps further and I began to hear music. At first it was as if the music came from inside my head, but as I walked a little further it got louder. A spark caught my left eye and I turned to find a small fire. When I say small, I mean dolls house size. Nothing that would keep a grown man warm. Glancing again I noticed that there were people sat around it. Boy, I’d really had far too much to drink. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. No, they were still there. They were completely naked too, with dark hair and pale skin. 2 males and 3 females, just sat around the fire. Then they turned to look at me.
It was then that I saw their eyes and that expression. My heart felt as if it would stop dead if they stared any longer. Those burning amber eyes looked straight through me, seemingly measuring me for some unknown cause. Their faces displayed signs of rage. No, that’s not right, they were more peaceful than that, but at the same time full of a sort of anger than made my legs shake.
Then they spoke. It was a language I’d never heard, and yet I understood every last word.
“You were warned.” One of the males said as he pressed his face up towards mine. “You didn’t listen. You trespassed on our secret way.”
One of the females appeared beside him, hovering in the air, more like wasps than fairies. “You must join the others.”
I thought I was being let off, there were others. But then I remembered the villages saying that no-one came back. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to them?
As they danced around me in the air, I felt my legs shaking again. I tried to run, but found myself rooted to the spot. Rooted. Yes, that was a very good word for it. Looking down I saw, to my horror, what was happening. Roots were bending their way around my feet. They’d wrapped them around me. No, that wasn’t it, either. Something else was happening, something far worse.
I realised all too late that the roots were actually coming from my feet, my trousers split to reveal bark and my arms lifted to the sides, sprouting branches and leaves. I tried to shout by my whole body was now covered in bark. I was becoming a tree. That’s what had happened to the others, then, they were the trees around me, all silently screaming to be let free. How many years have passed for them, standing swaying in the gentle, mocking breeze?
And all too late I realise I will never leave this spot again, destined to stand watch over the fairies dancing. I look over the hill to the pub where it all began and wonder who will be next to stand beside me, some unfortunate traveller who mocks the secret path.
It started, as these things tend to do, with a trip to the pub. I'd been working with friends in a small Cornish town for the week. We were just having a couple of drinks to unwind after a long week of work and the conversation came around to talking about Halsdon hill. The locals were telling us that it had been a folk tale for generations, the fairies were said to bewitch travellers who accidentally took the secret path and interfered with their solstice dances. None of them would ever go up there at night, even outside of the summer months, for fear of what they’d find.
Being of modern mind, I sniffed at any ideas of fairies and other stupid folk tales. After all, we all know they don’t exist, they’re just in the minds of writers, laying down stories to entertain children before bedtime. Alcohol made me boastful (and stupid, I’ll admit that now). What’s the worst that could happen on a plain grassy hill? Getting in the forest wasn’t an option, it was so small, even a fool would be able to find their way out. I stood up and proclaimed to the world my intentions. The locals looked nervous and began muttering, my friends just laughed and coaxed me on.
So we left the pub and headed for the hill. At first a great crowd followed me on my incredible voyage, but slowly the villagers ebbed away and even my friends decided to stay behind. Only an old man with a long white beard carried on behind me until we were half way up the hill. He put a hand on my shoulder and I turned.
“You really want to go through with this?” He said, trying to frighten me in to turning around.
“Old man, I stopped believing in fairies and goblins when I was 5. What harm can a small hill do?”
He studied me for a short while, then seemed to make up his mind. “Very well. You’ll need to know the secret way, then.”
He showed me an old piece of paper marked with a path around the forest. It looked ancient and had drawings of small creatures. But they didn’t look like any fairies I’d seen in books. There was something about them that made me suddenly uneasy, despite the drink still sloshing around inside me. I thanked him and set off again, noticing that he would go no further.
Keeping to the path on the map, I began to get bored. How would anyone even know I went through the secret path if there was no one to watch me? I picked up some gravel from the floor and started to throw it at the trees as I walked nearer towards the wooded area so feared by the locals.
It was then I felt a sharp pain in my head. I rubbed the spot and felt a small stone, just like the one I’d thrown, in my hair. ‘Must have bounced off a tree’ I thought, and carried on. I threw another stone and the same pain hit me in the back of my head. This time I was sure that the stone wasn’t the same one I’d thrown. Someone must be playing a trick. I turned around but no-one was there. Probably behind a tree. I shrugged and carried on.
A few steps further and I began to hear music. At first it was as if the music came from inside my head, but as I walked a little further it got louder. A spark caught my left eye and I turned to find a small fire. When I say small, I mean dolls house size. Nothing that would keep a grown man warm. Glancing again I noticed that there were people sat around it. Boy, I’d really had far too much to drink. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. No, they were still there. They were completely naked too, with dark hair and pale skin. 2 males and 3 females, just sat around the fire. Then they turned to look at me.
It was then that I saw their eyes and that expression. My heart felt as if it would stop dead if they stared any longer. Those burning amber eyes looked straight through me, seemingly measuring me for some unknown cause. Their faces displayed signs of rage. No, that’s not right, they were more peaceful than that, but at the same time full of a sort of anger than made my legs shake.
Then they spoke. It was a language I’d never heard, and yet I understood every last word.
“You were warned.” One of the males said as he pressed his face up towards mine. “You didn’t listen. You trespassed on our secret way.”
One of the females appeared beside him, hovering in the air, more like wasps than fairies. “You must join the others.”
I thought I was being let off, there were others. But then I remembered the villages saying that no-one came back. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to them?
As they danced around me in the air, I felt my legs shaking again. I tried to run, but found myself rooted to the spot. Rooted. Yes, that was a very good word for it. Looking down I saw, to my horror, what was happening. Roots were bending their way around my feet. They’d wrapped them around me. No, that wasn’t it, either. Something else was happening, something far worse.
I realised all too late that the roots were actually coming from my feet, my trousers split to reveal bark and my arms lifted to the sides, sprouting branches and leaves. I tried to shout by my whole body was now covered in bark. I was becoming a tree. That’s what had happened to the others, then, they were the trees around me, all silently screaming to be let free. How many years have passed for them, standing swaying in the gentle, mocking breeze?
And all too late I realise I will never leave this spot again, destined to stand watch over the fairies dancing. I look over the hill to the pub where it all began and wonder who will be next to stand beside me, some unfortunate traveller who mocks the secret path.
All I do is stand here every day, under the deep green cover of leaves and branches reaching outward in an attempt to touch something, anything. But no-one notices me any more.
It started, as these things tend to do, with a trip to the pub. I'd been working with friends in a small Cornish town for the week. We were just having a couple of drinks to unwind after a long week of work and the conversation came around to talking about Halsdon hill. The locals were telling us that it had been a folk tale for generations, the fairies were said to bewitch travellers who accidentally took the secret path and interfered with their solstice dances. None of them would ever go up there at night, even outside of the summer months, for fear of what they’d find.
Being of modern mind, I sniffed at any ideas of fairies and other stupid folk tales. After all, we all know they don’t exist, they’re just in the minds of writers, laying down stories to entertain children before bedtime. Alcohol made me boastful (and stupid, I’ll admit that now). What’s the worst that could happen on a plain grassy hill? Getting in the forest wasn’t an option, it was so small, even a fool would be able to find their way out. I stood up and proclaimed to the world my intentions. The locals looked nervous and began muttering, my friends just laughed and coaxed me on.
So we left the pub and headed for the hill. At first a great crowd followed me on my incredible voyage, but slowly the villagers ebbed away and even my friends decided to stay behind. Only an old man with a long white beard carried on behind me until we were half way up the hill. He put a hand on my shoulder and I turned.
“You really want to go through with this?” He said, trying to frighten me in to turning around.
“Old man, I stopped believing in fairies and goblins when I was 5. What harm can a small hill do?”
He studied me for a short while, then seemed to make up his mind. “Very well. You’ll need to know the secret way, then.”
He showed me an old piece of paper marked with a path around the forest. It looked ancient and had drawings of small creatures. But they didn’t look like any fairies I’d seen in books. There was something about them that made me suddenly uneasy, despite the drink still sloshing around inside me. I thanked him and set off again, noticing that he would go no further.
Keeping to the path on the map, I began to get bored. How would anyone even know I went through the secret path if there was no one to watch me? I picked up some gravel from the floor and started to throw it at the trees as I walked nearer towards the wooded area so feared by the locals.
It was then I felt a sharp pain in my head. I rubbed the spot and felt a small stone, just like the one I’d thrown, in my hair. ‘Must have bounced off a tree’ I thought, and carried on. I threw another stone and the same pain hit me in the back of my head. This time I was sure that the stone wasn’t the same one I’d thrown. Someone must be playing a trick. I turned around but no-one was there. Probably behind a tree. I shrugged and carried on.
A few steps further and I began to hear music. At first it was as if the music came from inside my head, but as I walked a little further it got louder. A spark caught my left eye and I turned to find a small fire. When I say small, I mean dolls house size. Nothing that would keep a grown man warm. Glancing again I noticed that there were people sat around it. Boy, I’d really had far too much to drink. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. No, they were still there. They were completely naked too, with dark hair and pale skin. 2 males and 3 females, just sat around the fire. Then they turned to look at me.
It was then that I saw their eyes and that expression. My heart felt as if it would stop dead if they stared any longer. Those burning amber eyes looked straight through me, seemingly measuring me for some unknown cause. Their faces displayed signs of rage. No, that’s not right, they were more peaceful than that, but at the same time full of a sort of anger than made my legs shake.
Then they spoke. It was a language I’d never heard, and yet I understood every last word.
“You were warned.” One of the males said as he pressed his face up towards mine. “You didn’t listen. You trespassed on our secret way.”
One of the females appeared beside him, hovering in the air, more like wasps than fairies. “You must join the others.”
I thought I was being let off, there were others. But then I remembered the villages saying that no-one came back. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to them?
As they danced around me in the air, I felt my legs shaking again. I tried to run, but found myself rooted to the spot. Rooted. Yes, that was a very good word for it. Looking down I saw, to my horror, what was happening. Roots were bending their way around my feet. They’d wrapped them around me. No, that wasn’t it, either. Something else was happening, something far worse.
I realised all too late that the roots were actually coming from my feet, my trousers split to reveal bark and my arms lifted to the sides, sprouting branches and leaves. I tried to shout by my whole body was now covered in bark. I was becoming a tree. That’s what had happened to the others, then, they were the trees around me, all silently screaming to be let free. How many years have passed for them, standing swaying in the gentle, mocking breeze?
And all too late I realise I will never leave this spot again, destined to stand watch over the fairies dancing. I look over the hill to the pub where it all began and wonder who will be next to stand beside me, some unfortunate traveller who mocks the secret path.
It started, as these things tend to do, with a trip to the pub. I'd been working with friends in a small Cornish town for the week. We were just having a couple of drinks to unwind after a long week of work and the conversation came around to talking about Halsdon hill. The locals were telling us that it had been a folk tale for generations, the fairies were said to bewitch travellers who accidentally took the secret path and interfered with their solstice dances. None of them would ever go up there at night, even outside of the summer months, for fear of what they’d find.
Being of modern mind, I sniffed at any ideas of fairies and other stupid folk tales. After all, we all know they don’t exist, they’re just in the minds of writers, laying down stories to entertain children before bedtime. Alcohol made me boastful (and stupid, I’ll admit that now). What’s the worst that could happen on a plain grassy hill? Getting in the forest wasn’t an option, it was so small, even a fool would be able to find their way out. I stood up and proclaimed to the world my intentions. The locals looked nervous and began muttering, my friends just laughed and coaxed me on.
So we left the pub and headed for the hill. At first a great crowd followed me on my incredible voyage, but slowly the villagers ebbed away and even my friends decided to stay behind. Only an old man with a long white beard carried on behind me until we were half way up the hill. He put a hand on my shoulder and I turned.
“You really want to go through with this?” He said, trying to frighten me in to turning around.
“Old man, I stopped believing in fairies and goblins when I was 5. What harm can a small hill do?”
He studied me for a short while, then seemed to make up his mind. “Very well. You’ll need to know the secret way, then.”
He showed me an old piece of paper marked with a path around the forest. It looked ancient and had drawings of small creatures. But they didn’t look like any fairies I’d seen in books. There was something about them that made me suddenly uneasy, despite the drink still sloshing around inside me. I thanked him and set off again, noticing that he would go no further.
Keeping to the path on the map, I began to get bored. How would anyone even know I went through the secret path if there was no one to watch me? I picked up some gravel from the floor and started to throw it at the trees as I walked nearer towards the wooded area so feared by the locals.
It was then I felt a sharp pain in my head. I rubbed the spot and felt a small stone, just like the one I’d thrown, in my hair. ‘Must have bounced off a tree’ I thought, and carried on. I threw another stone and the same pain hit me in the back of my head. This time I was sure that the stone wasn’t the same one I’d thrown. Someone must be playing a trick. I turned around but no-one was there. Probably behind a tree. I shrugged and carried on.
A few steps further and I began to hear music. At first it was as if the music came from inside my head, but as I walked a little further it got louder. A spark caught my left eye and I turned to find a small fire. When I say small, I mean dolls house size. Nothing that would keep a grown man warm. Glancing again I noticed that there were people sat around it. Boy, I’d really had far too much to drink. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. No, they were still there. They were completely naked too, with dark hair and pale skin. 2 males and 3 females, just sat around the fire. Then they turned to look at me.
It was then that I saw their eyes and that expression. My heart felt as if it would stop dead if they stared any longer. Those burning amber eyes looked straight through me, seemingly measuring me for some unknown cause. Their faces displayed signs of rage. No, that’s not right, they were more peaceful than that, but at the same time full of a sort of anger than made my legs shake.
Then they spoke. It was a language I’d never heard, and yet I understood every last word.
“You were warned.” One of the males said as he pressed his face up towards mine. “You didn’t listen. You trespassed on our secret way.”
One of the females appeared beside him, hovering in the air, more like wasps than fairies. “You must join the others.”
I thought I was being let off, there were others. But then I remembered the villages saying that no-one came back. Oh, why hadn’t I listened to them?
As they danced around me in the air, I felt my legs shaking again. I tried to run, but found myself rooted to the spot. Rooted. Yes, that was a very good word for it. Looking down I saw, to my horror, what was happening. Roots were bending their way around my feet. They’d wrapped them around me. No, that wasn’t it, either. Something else was happening, something far worse.
I realised all too late that the roots were actually coming from my feet, my trousers split to reveal bark and my arms lifted to the sides, sprouting branches and leaves. I tried to shout by my whole body was now covered in bark. I was becoming a tree. That’s what had happened to the others, then, they were the trees around me, all silently screaming to be let free. How many years have passed for them, standing swaying in the gentle, mocking breeze?
And all too late I realise I will never leave this spot again, destined to stand watch over the fairies dancing. I look over the hill to the pub where it all began and wonder who will be next to stand beside me, some unfortunate traveller who mocks the secret path.
Well done PB on your GAD award. You really are a good writer =D far better than I.
Verdict in a nutshell: Excellent use of the theme. A precautionary fairy tale for drunkards who refuse to believe in fairies. The fools! 7.9 out of 10.