The Cycle of Life
With great trepidation and pursed lips, the little golden haired girl crept
up to the unkempt door. She had heard all sorts of stories about the crazy
old man who lived inside. He killed small boys who picked their noses, ate
children who refused to clean up and, worst of all, stole the faces of
young blond girls who refused to go to sleep. With her heart pounding like
a scared rabbit, she knocked on the door and without waiting, spun around
to leave. There was a creak and the old door opened. She turned with wide
green eyes and stared up at the old man in horror. He had gnarled fingers
which grasped a twisted stick, a wrinkled face with deep set eyes and a
long eagle nose. Gabrielle was hit with a rotten smell from his house and
she wrinkled her nose in protest.
"Euugh," she whined and then, realising what she had said, slapped a small
hand over her open mouth.
"What are you doing here?" snapped the old man.
"My mummy said that you might be ill and that I should come see," she
spluttered, lowering her hand. She looked down at her feet and clenched her
fists into tiny balls at her side.
"Hmmm, you'd better come in," said Titus, disappearing into the evil
smelling darkness.
Gabrielle peered in at the doorway. Her curiosity was getting the better of
her and she so desperately wanted to see if the old man had a pot full of
bubbling boys over the fire. The smell offended her but as her eyes began
to adjust to the darkness, she stepped into the tiny hut and politely
closed the door behind her.
The old man was pouring a goblet of something for her. It was bound to be
poison, fetloch maybe or perhaps knight's pain. Either way, she was not
going to drink it. She scratched her bottom uncomfortably and pulled her
panties from between her buttocks.
"Come in, come in," Titus said, gesturing at her to sit down by the fire.
He handed her the goblet of poison. He was obviously a great magician
because the poison looked just like water. Gabrielle walked slowly toward
the big pot by the fire. She stood staring at it.
"Do you kill girls too or just boys?" she asked staring at the bubbling
liquid inside the cauldron.
He smiled behind her.
"Oh yes," he said quietly, "but only if they haven't been good."
"I'm a good girl," Gabrielle spurted, "ask anyone, I'm real good. It's my
sister who is bad, Lila. I'm good, ask Perdicus's mother," she finished, as
if that was incontrovertible evidence in the case for the defense. She
stood on tiptoes and peered into the pot. The old man's clothes were
boiling away in it. She sank back a little disappointed.
"I know," Titus agreed kindly, slowly lowering himself into the only chair
in the room with a heavy groan of effort. He gently placed his stick by the
fire and rested his ancient hands in his lap. Gabrielle looked around the
hut. It was dark and a little dirty. Old curtains hung like a shroud at the
window and a rug, curled with age, provided the only comfort in the small
room. By one wall was a pedestal and on top of that was the bust of a
beautiful woman. With her curiosity getting the better of her and her
initial fears melting away, Gabrielle ran over to the pedestal.
"Who is this lady?" she said reaching for the statuette.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT," shouted Titus. The great effort caused him to collapse
into a fit of coughing. Gabrielle pulled her hand back and began to cry,
silent tears running down her pretty, muddy face. Titus looked up and
sighed deeply. He pulled himself out of the chair and hobbled over to the
pedestal. Gabrielle watched him, afraid of what he might do. He reached
over her head, took hold of the bust and handed it to Gabrielle.
"Go on," he offered, "you take it".
Tentatively she took the heavy statue and held it in both arms. She stared
at it.
"Who is she?" she asked.
"That was my wife," Titus replied making his way back to his chair.
"Is she dead, did you kill her?" she asked excitedly.
"No," he sighed, "she isn't dead, just gone, a long time ago, a very long
time".
Gabrielle frowned at the statue.
"She's beautiful," she smiled.
"Yes, " he mused, sitting down with audible strain.
"Did you love her?"
The old man paused a moment, he was unused to such questions.
"Yes, very much Gabrielle," he replied eventually.
"Did she love you?"
"I think she did, yes."
There was a long pause. The fire crackled loudly.
"Did she hate the smell of your clothes?" asked Gabrielle, certain she now
understood the beautiful lady's reason for leaving. Titus laughed gently.
"Why did she leave then?" she persisted.
"I, I honestly don't know," he replied slowly.
"But you loved her and she loved you," protested the youngster, walking
toward Titus and offering him the bust. She watched as he gently turned it
to face him and then stroked a cheek gently with the back of one of his
gnarled knuckles. His eyes caressed the bust.
"It's hard to explain," he whispered, "sometimes it simply isn't enough."
Gabrielle wrinkled her brow in confusion and stuck her bottom lip way out.
She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side, her waist
length hair hanging freely.
"Sooo, what do you do in here by yourself?" she finally asked.
Titus put the bust down beside the fire and then leant over in his chair.
He reached down and pulled up a scruffy scroll.
"Do you read little girl?" he asked.
"Uhu," Gabrielle nodded uncertainly. She knew her runes and could read her
'Jason and the Golden Fleece' story with the pictures but she had only been
reading for a year and three quarters and Perdicus was a much better
reader, but he was older.
"Well, I write stories," Titus explained, handing her the scroll. She
hesitated but he pushed it into her belly and she finally took it.
"Can I keep it?" she asked in wide-eyed anticipation, clutching it to her
chest.
The old man smiled.
Gabrielle's mother waved at Titus who smiled back. Titus had always been a
hard old man, independent and abrupt but recently he had been much
friendlier. He had commented on Gabrielle and how bright she seemed. He had
pestered for her to be sent round to his house and finally Gabrielle's
mother had relented.
Now, as she watched her daughter run across the muddy courtyard and out of
the village gate, presumably to her favourite spot by the river, she was
glad she had. The little girl was smiling broadly and carrying a scroll as
if it were a precious vase. For a moment she saw Titus smiling, then he
collapsed into the street and lay very still.
By the river, Gabrielle, laid in the long green grass, opened her scroll
slowly and carefully. Her tongue popped out of her mouth with concentration
as she began to read it slowly.
"The…Warrior…and…the…Bard," she began.
It was long after dark before she finally went home.
With great trepidation and pursed lips, the little golden haired girl crept
up to the unkempt door. She had heard all sorts of stories about the crazy
old man who lived inside. He killed small boys who picked their noses, ate
children who refused to clean up and, worst of all, stole the faces of
young blond girls who refused to go to sleep. With her heart pounding like
a scared rabbit, she knocked on the door and without waiting, spun around
to leave. There was a creak and the old door opened. She turned with wide
green eyes and stared up at the old man in horror. He had gnarled fingers
which grasped a twisted stick, a wrinkled face with deep set eyes and a
long eagle nose. Gabrielle was hit with a rotten smell from his house and
she wrinkled her nose in protest.
"Euugh," she whined and then, realising what she had said, slapped a small
hand over her open mouth.
"What are you doing here?" snapped the old man.
"My mummy said that you might be ill and that I should come see," she
spluttered, lowering her hand. She looked down at her feet and clenched her
fists into tiny balls at her side.
"Hmmm, you'd better come in," said Titus, disappearing into the evil
smelling darkness.
Gabrielle peered in at the doorway. Her curiosity was getting the better of
her and she so desperately wanted to see if the old man had a pot full of
bubbling boys over the fire. The smell offended her but as her eyes began
to adjust to the darkness, she stepped into the tiny hut and politely
closed the door behind her.
The old man was pouring a goblet of something for her. It was bound to be
poison, fetloch maybe or perhaps knight's pain. Either way, she was not
going to drink it. She scratched her bottom uncomfortably and pulled her
panties from between her buttocks.
"Come in, come in," Titus said, gesturing at her to sit down by the fire.
He handed her the goblet of poison. He was obviously a great magician
because the poison looked just like water. Gabrielle walked slowly toward
the big pot by the fire. She stood staring at it.
"Do you kill girls too or just boys?" she asked staring at the bubbling
liquid inside the cauldron.
He smiled behind her.
"Oh yes," he said quietly, "but only if they haven't been good."
"I'm a good girl," Gabrielle spurted, "ask anyone, I'm real good. It's my
sister who is bad, Lila. I'm good, ask Perdicus's mother," she finished, as
if that was incontrovertible evidence in the case for the defense. She
stood on tiptoes and peered into the pot. The old man's clothes were
boiling away in it. She sank back a little disappointed.
"I know," Titus agreed kindly, slowly lowering himself into the only chair
in the room with a heavy groan of effort. He gently placed his stick by the
fire and rested his ancient hands in his lap. Gabrielle looked around the
hut. It was dark and a little dirty. Old curtains hung like a shroud at the
window and a rug, curled with age, provided the only comfort in the small
room. By one wall was a pedestal and on top of that was the bust of a
beautiful woman. With her curiosity getting the better of her and her
initial fears melting away, Gabrielle ran over to the pedestal.
"Who is this lady?" she said reaching for the statuette.
"DON'T TOUCH THAT," shouted Titus. The great effort caused him to collapse
into a fit of coughing. Gabrielle pulled her hand back and began to cry,
silent tears running down her pretty, muddy face. Titus looked up and
sighed deeply. He pulled himself out of the chair and hobbled over to the
pedestal. Gabrielle watched him, afraid of what he might do. He reached
over her head, took hold of the bust and handed it to Gabrielle.
"Go on," he offered, "you take it".
Tentatively she took the heavy statue and held it in both arms. She stared
at it.
"Who is she?" she asked.
"That was my wife," Titus replied making his way back to his chair.
"Is she dead, did you kill her?" she asked excitedly.
"No," he sighed, "she isn't dead, just gone, a long time ago, a very long
time".
Gabrielle frowned at the statue.
"She's beautiful," she smiled.
"Yes, " he mused, sitting down with audible strain.
"Did you love her?"
The old man paused a moment, he was unused to such questions.
"Yes, very much Gabrielle," he replied eventually.
"Did she love you?"
"I think she did, yes."
There was a long pause. The fire crackled loudly.
"Did she hate the smell of your clothes?" asked Gabrielle, certain she now
understood the beautiful lady's reason for leaving. Titus laughed gently.
"Why did she leave then?" she persisted.
"I, I honestly don't know," he replied slowly.
"But you loved her and she loved you," protested the youngster, walking
toward Titus and offering him the bust. She watched as he gently turned it
to face him and then stroked a cheek gently with the back of one of his
gnarled knuckles. His eyes caressed the bust.
"It's hard to explain," he whispered, "sometimes it simply isn't enough."
Gabrielle wrinkled her brow in confusion and stuck her bottom lip way out.
She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side, her waist
length hair hanging freely.
"Sooo, what do you do in here by yourself?" she finally asked.
Titus put the bust down beside the fire and then leant over in his chair.
He reached down and pulled up a scruffy scroll.
"Do you read little girl?" he asked.
"Uhu," Gabrielle nodded uncertainly. She knew her runes and could read her
'Jason and the Golden Fleece' story with the pictures but she had only been
reading for a year and three quarters and Perdicus was a much better
reader, but he was older.
"Well, I write stories," Titus explained, handing her the scroll. She
hesitated but he pushed it into her belly and she finally took it.
"Can I keep it?" she asked in wide-eyed anticipation, clutching it to her
chest.
The old man smiled.
Gabrielle's mother waved at Titus who smiled back. Titus had always been a
hard old man, independent and abrupt but recently he had been much
friendlier. He had commented on Gabrielle and how bright she seemed. He had
pestered for her to be sent round to his house and finally Gabrielle's
mother had relented.
Now, as she watched her daughter run across the muddy courtyard and out of
the village gate, presumably to her favourite spot by the river, she was
glad she had. The little girl was smiling broadly and carrying a scroll as
if it were a precious vase. For a moment she saw Titus smiling, then he
collapsed into the street and lay very still.
By the river, Gabrielle, laid in the long green grass, opened her scroll
slowly and carefully. Her tongue popped out of her mouth with concentration
as she began to read it slowly.
"The…Warrior…and…the…Bard," she began.
It was long after dark before she finally went home.