Hello! Second chapter already! This is a record for me. This is where we
get into the actual story, so sit back, relax, and enjoy.
Johnny
I awoke from my small nap later that night. Feeling hopeless, but strangely not resentful of any of the people who wouldn't help. They didn't have enough supplies, and I'd had a good life. If only I could have convinced my stomach of that fact. It wouldn't stop growling, and the pain was excruciating. If you've ever skipped meals for a couple days, you'd know my pain. I felt I could resign myself to my fate if only I didn't have to live through the pain. And the thirst! It was horrible, and my mouth was sticky and hardly had enough saliva to wet it sufficiently.
I wish I could say that in all of my times, I had learned not to wallow, but I pitied myself right then. I suppose that's why it happened, why I said yes, why I didn't recognize this person for what he was right away. But hunger does strange things to the mind, and I suppose the cold made me somewhat delirious. He popped out of the bushes suddenly, and he hopped into the oak branches above me. I jumped a foot into the air, my knife drawn and at the ready. This man had taken one jump and landed on an oak branch! That was at least 5 ½ feet high! In one jump! I was jumpy, and in pain, and cranky. The little man laughed, the sound like broken glass grinding. It hurt the ears. I took a better look at him, for I was sure even then that it was a 'he.' It was green, and it had a cloven left foot. His face was covered with coarse black hair that spread in all directions. His eyes were the worst though. Little black pools of darkness. There wasn't a scrap of white in them; they were like giant pupils, staring at you from out of their depths. A person could get lost in eyes like that, and not in the good way.
"A soldier feeling sorry for himself? Pah! Horrible, that. I thought soldiers were supposed to be brave, and fearless, looking at the future with bright eyes and light hearts. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves." He said this slyly, as if he could read into my deepest memories.
"I am brave demon!" I shouted, chafed at his suggestion that I wasn't a real soldier. "Give me a test to prove how brave I am. I will conquer it with little effort." Bravado. The downfall of all men is their need for bravado at times like these.
The little man smiled to himself and said, "Gladly will I give you a challenge. Look behind you and we will see how much you measure up to your brave words."
I turned around slowly, and felt something breathe hotly down my neck. I was face to furious face with a horrible, BIG, black bear. It growled, and all I had was my little knife. Well, I wasn't necessarily scared, but I was sick of killing. The bear wouldn't just go away though. Its main instinct was to kill or be killed. And I had gotten myself into this mess, so I would have to do this thing.
The bear circled me, and I waited for it to make the first move. It stood up on its two back paws suddenly and took the first swipe. So fast did it move that, had I not been trained as a fierce fighter, with quick reflexes I surely would have been torn in half at the blow. Such was my experience though, that as soon as it lifted its paw to strike, I ducked underneath the arm and stabbed directly into the heart of the thing. I registered shock in the fierce eyes before the bear went limp in my arms. I was hungry, and weak, and I toppled under the weight.
The little man jumped from the limb it had perched on, and came over to speak to me. My breathing was ragged with so many pounds of bear flesh making it hard to breath. My head poked out though, so the little man spoke to me directly. "Oh dear. Trapped are we?" he smiled and giggled maliciously, "Well, you've indeed proven your bravery. But what about your strength? How are you going to get out of there? Oh don't glare like that. You're hungry and weak, but I can help you, oh yes I can. I have a proposition for you, if you please. I can give you wealth beyond your wildest imaginings. You will be able to get anything you desire, buy anything you desire, live like a king. Interested?"
Now you have to consider my position. I was half delirious from the cold, and hunger, and thirst, and what this man offered seemed like a breath of fresh air after almost dying from drowning. He offered me the key to my survival. What would you have done? Honestly? I'd like to say I refused, didn't give in like that, followed my mothers' steadfast teachings, and died of starvation. This is not what happened. "What's the catch?" I asked curiously.
The little man smiled again, "The catch is this. You may not wash yourself, or comb your hair, or cut your nails, or hair, or change your clothes, or sleep on any bed but the one I will make for you. Not for seven years. If you die during that time, your soul is mine, and if you break the rules at any time, your soul is mine. Still interested?"
I said yes. I agreed. I gave up. But it wasn't over yet. With one hand the little man lifted the bear off of me and I gasped and took a deep breath. "Let's shake on it." He said. I put out my hand and he shook it vigorously. He took out a knife and began to skin the bear. He did it carefully, as if he had much practice. However he left great chunks of bear flesh still connected, and I began to worry. I had already agreed, and I knew I was bound by my word. If I tried to back out now this man would take my soul. It was a mistake and I knew it was, but too late.
Finally he was done skinning the beast. He snapped his fingers and the rest of the bear burst into flames and was consumed by them in an instant. There was nothing left but ash, and a horrible smell of burnt flesh; one I feared would stay with me forever. I was disgusted with myself. Meanwhile the little man took out a spool of thread and a pair of sharp scissors. He began to sew the bears' flesh into...something. I didn't know what exactly, but I felt the stirrings of fear. After a few more moments the little man made a few slashes and shoved something inside them. He was done and he looked up from his work with satisfaction. I thought it resembled a lump of hair. He threw the bearskin over my shoulders. There were sleeves of a sort, and it was very long and went down to my feet. I don't know if you've ever smelled the reek of uncured animal flesh, but it's not very pleasant. And the chunks of meat were strategically placed to make me look deformed, and monstrous. They would rot soon, and I would feel the juice run down my neck soon enough. It was warm though; I suppose that was one good thing, the only good thing I could see so far.
"Okay, I'm wearing this monstrous piece," I said forcefully, "Where's your end of the bargain? You promised me wealth if I did this. If you don't keep your end of the bargain I'll not be tied to mine." I was beginning to feel safe. If he couldn't provide his end, I wouldn't have to do this after all. He must have seen my look for he laughed again.
"Don't think you can get out of this that easily. See where I inserted pockets in the sides? Everytime you reach your hand in them you'll see they're filled with gold. The gold will never fade, or dwindle or go away. And no, it's not stolen. It's perfectly legitimate, and safe. Now then, I'll be watching to make sure you keep your end of the bargain. The cloak will be your bed. If you sleep in another, you break the deal and your soul is mine. If you wash your hair or face or clothes or body, your soul is mine. If you comb or clip your hair or nails, your s-"
"-soul is mine, I get it I get it. You can leave now. I'll see you in seven years." And with that I began walking towards the village. Every step I took caused juice and slime to run down my arms and neck and shoulders and legs. Blood dripped down, and I began to look monstrous. I felt sticky and unkempt already, and every step I took reminded me that there were seven more years to go. I dipped my hands in the pockets and was surprised to find many coins waiting there. I pulled out a handful and realized that they were all gold. I was richer than a king, and for a moment I forgot my troubles. At that moment my stomach rumbled. I decided to go to the village and get something to eat and drink and find a place for the night.
As soon as the people from the village saw me they gave me a frightened look and dashed off to their homes. Doors slammed and locked. I came to the first in and saw that they were looking very scared as well. The owner was about to bar their door too but I took out a handful of gold and his greed overcame his wish to shut me out. He opened the door wide and I was treated well. I was given the very best meals. I tried to eat the meat but the rank odor of the bear meat kept me from having much of an appetite for anything, much less meat. I ate vegetables, and fruits, and all dishes without meat in them. I drank the very best ciders, and in time felt quite satisfied. They led me to a room with a large luxurious down- filled bed. I looked longingly at the soft bed but had to keep to my bargain. I curled up on the floor, wrapping the bearskin around me tightly. This was the moment I realized just how skillful the little man had been. The chunks of fat had been placed strategically in the very worst spots. Finding a comfortable position was impossible. I tossed and turned all that night, all the while cursing the strange little man, though I knew that the only fault was my own.
Sabina
In time I got used to being hungry always. It was unimportant when I considered our other troubles. My father had had to sell even the little three-bedroom cottage. We moved into town, but it wasn't a pleasant time. The town was many miles away from our quiet farm, and surely the market for my treasured needlework would be greater there. My father would have to sell others crops instead of our own. And he would, but he was depressed. My sisters couldn't do anything but giggle and laugh about all of the fine things we would do when we got there. I started to resent them. Could they not see our troubles? Did they feel that they were exempt from trying to help the family make a living? They spent more of our precious money than my father and myself combined, and ten times more!
The day we moved was a sad day. We would be leaving the quiet comfort of the country for the bustling noisy activity of the city. I packed up my few things with care. Gently for the few things that I had kept were of great worth to me. My sisters threw their things into bags helter-skelter. They were loaded and ready to go before my father and I. We both took our time, reminiscing and walking among our once plentiful rows of vegetables and fruits. We said goodbye in our own ways, and at noon we could put it off no longer. My sisters were screeching for us to get into the cart so we could go. I said my last goodbye and got in the cart. We were off.
The trip to the city took until dawn the next morning. It was hard, and bumpy, and jolting. I didn't complained, just stared vacantly at the passing landscape. My sisters chattered like two birds. They wouldn't be quiet and I did my best to block them out. It was useless, their mindless chattering drove me insane, and I began to wish wistfully for our quiet country life. I'm not one to dwell on such things though, and I looked forward, if not with happiness, at least without a foreboding sense of dread. When we finally reached our new house I finally was joyful. It was quaint and pleasing to the eye. Very small, probably with only two bedrooms this time, and not much space, but the outside was very pleasant. I squealed with delight and rushed over to take a closer look. My sisters, however, looked as if they had swallowed a bug. "How can we live in such a tiny apartment?" they would ask, "Such a place is not fitting for two as fair to look upon as we are." They scoffed, but I loved it. And it had the loveliest garden in back. It was small, and unkempt, hardly more than a weed patch, but it reminded me of home and I rushed over first thing to start weeding. I saved the poor lavender and rosemary from choking on the weeds. Next I trimmed the climbing jasmine and honeysuckle that was growing out of control. That first day I accomplished much, and my garden became my sanctuary. I asked my sisters if they wanted to help, but they scoffed and said, "Ruin our hands with such menial work? Hardly."
I didn't understand their mood, had we not grown up simple farmers? Were we not hardworking, and fair people? Then why did they act as though they were queens and I the servant? It made no sense, but I reminded myself once more that I had killed mother, and they were justified to treat me however they wished.
That first day was a crossing-over point for me. While I still missed our quiet farmhouse, and all of the memories, I fell in love with the house, small as it was, and with the little cries from the vendors, and the babble of people walking in the streets. We lived on the poor side of town, and our neighbors were poor as well, but they were happy, and content with life. Children screamed in the streets as they played their noisy games. Mothers called to their children to be safe, and chatted with their neighbors, and fathers discussed aspects of work, or where this or that blacksmith or tailor worked, and what they could do to help the families near them who had come on harder times than they themselves had come upon. The people were friendly, and as I worked in my garden I could hear their friendly chatter.
My sisters scoffed at it all, and complained about the 'squalor' we lived in. I wanted to scream at them, 'do you not see the beauties of this town? Do you not hear the kindness of the people? Do you not long to be part of this community, part of this loving family?'
I could not work in my garden forever though, and my family needed money to put food on the table. I took up my needle once again, and sat down inside to work. I missed the gentle chatter of the people though, so I took a chair and sat out in the front yard while I worked. My new pattern gathered shape around my eyes, influenced by the kindness, and the lovingness of the people. It was turning out to be my best work ever, and I was so absorbed that I didn't notice the pair of eyes looking over my shoulder. After five minutes I finally felt something there and turned around to find a young girl watching me work. She looked to be about my age, with dark hair and a quick smile. She was beautiful certainly, but not in the way of traditional beauty. She caught the eye with her simple grace even when she wasn't moving. I thought that she'd make a wonderful dancer.
"What are you making?" she asked me kindly.
"It's going to be a tapestry. What do you think so far?"
The girl looked at the gentle designs. The picture was of a cottage, all soft flowing lines and beautiful trim. The colors were exquisitely matched. But that wasn't the most remarkable. It was a cottage like no other; because it you looked past the picture you would see that the cottage was actually a girl. A very pretty smiling girl. You could see love, and kindness shine out of her eyes. It wasn't finished yet though, because I was planning on making smaller buildings around it. Those building would transform into her family. Like I said, my best work so far. I was proud of it, but I knew that it would rip at my heart to sell it like I knew I would have to eventually. We had to eat after all.
"It's beautiful." The girl said truthfully. "My name is Anna Marie. I live there." She pointed at a house just down the street from mine. "You can call me Ann. Everybody does. Who's it for?" she asked, indicating the tapestry.
"Whoever offers the best price I suppose." I said with a small pang to my heart. The girl shrank away from me for a moment, like I had said something monstrous.
"You would sell your soul?" she whispered.
"My soul?" I asked confused, "It's just a tapestry."
"Just a tapestry." The girl repeated in a dull voice, "Do you think that any person could do that? And they call me naive. You must be touched in the head if you believe that. I know better." She moved closer to me, but I realized that the discussion was over from the tone of her voice and the subtle difference in posture. I was confused, but I decided that the tapestry wouldn't sew itself. I began again. Ann watched, but we didn't speak again that day. I had much to think of...
Whew! That chapter was the same size as the last one. Weird. This one felt longer to me. Anyway, read and review, you know what to do. And tell me what you think.
Johnny
I awoke from my small nap later that night. Feeling hopeless, but strangely not resentful of any of the people who wouldn't help. They didn't have enough supplies, and I'd had a good life. If only I could have convinced my stomach of that fact. It wouldn't stop growling, and the pain was excruciating. If you've ever skipped meals for a couple days, you'd know my pain. I felt I could resign myself to my fate if only I didn't have to live through the pain. And the thirst! It was horrible, and my mouth was sticky and hardly had enough saliva to wet it sufficiently.
I wish I could say that in all of my times, I had learned not to wallow, but I pitied myself right then. I suppose that's why it happened, why I said yes, why I didn't recognize this person for what he was right away. But hunger does strange things to the mind, and I suppose the cold made me somewhat delirious. He popped out of the bushes suddenly, and he hopped into the oak branches above me. I jumped a foot into the air, my knife drawn and at the ready. This man had taken one jump and landed on an oak branch! That was at least 5 ½ feet high! In one jump! I was jumpy, and in pain, and cranky. The little man laughed, the sound like broken glass grinding. It hurt the ears. I took a better look at him, for I was sure even then that it was a 'he.' It was green, and it had a cloven left foot. His face was covered with coarse black hair that spread in all directions. His eyes were the worst though. Little black pools of darkness. There wasn't a scrap of white in them; they were like giant pupils, staring at you from out of their depths. A person could get lost in eyes like that, and not in the good way.
"A soldier feeling sorry for himself? Pah! Horrible, that. I thought soldiers were supposed to be brave, and fearless, looking at the future with bright eyes and light hearts. Protecting those who cannot protect themselves." He said this slyly, as if he could read into my deepest memories.
"I am brave demon!" I shouted, chafed at his suggestion that I wasn't a real soldier. "Give me a test to prove how brave I am. I will conquer it with little effort." Bravado. The downfall of all men is their need for bravado at times like these.
The little man smiled to himself and said, "Gladly will I give you a challenge. Look behind you and we will see how much you measure up to your brave words."
I turned around slowly, and felt something breathe hotly down my neck. I was face to furious face with a horrible, BIG, black bear. It growled, and all I had was my little knife. Well, I wasn't necessarily scared, but I was sick of killing. The bear wouldn't just go away though. Its main instinct was to kill or be killed. And I had gotten myself into this mess, so I would have to do this thing.
The bear circled me, and I waited for it to make the first move. It stood up on its two back paws suddenly and took the first swipe. So fast did it move that, had I not been trained as a fierce fighter, with quick reflexes I surely would have been torn in half at the blow. Such was my experience though, that as soon as it lifted its paw to strike, I ducked underneath the arm and stabbed directly into the heart of the thing. I registered shock in the fierce eyes before the bear went limp in my arms. I was hungry, and weak, and I toppled under the weight.
The little man jumped from the limb it had perched on, and came over to speak to me. My breathing was ragged with so many pounds of bear flesh making it hard to breath. My head poked out though, so the little man spoke to me directly. "Oh dear. Trapped are we?" he smiled and giggled maliciously, "Well, you've indeed proven your bravery. But what about your strength? How are you going to get out of there? Oh don't glare like that. You're hungry and weak, but I can help you, oh yes I can. I have a proposition for you, if you please. I can give you wealth beyond your wildest imaginings. You will be able to get anything you desire, buy anything you desire, live like a king. Interested?"
Now you have to consider my position. I was half delirious from the cold, and hunger, and thirst, and what this man offered seemed like a breath of fresh air after almost dying from drowning. He offered me the key to my survival. What would you have done? Honestly? I'd like to say I refused, didn't give in like that, followed my mothers' steadfast teachings, and died of starvation. This is not what happened. "What's the catch?" I asked curiously.
The little man smiled again, "The catch is this. You may not wash yourself, or comb your hair, or cut your nails, or hair, or change your clothes, or sleep on any bed but the one I will make for you. Not for seven years. If you die during that time, your soul is mine, and if you break the rules at any time, your soul is mine. Still interested?"
I said yes. I agreed. I gave up. But it wasn't over yet. With one hand the little man lifted the bear off of me and I gasped and took a deep breath. "Let's shake on it." He said. I put out my hand and he shook it vigorously. He took out a knife and began to skin the bear. He did it carefully, as if he had much practice. However he left great chunks of bear flesh still connected, and I began to worry. I had already agreed, and I knew I was bound by my word. If I tried to back out now this man would take my soul. It was a mistake and I knew it was, but too late.
Finally he was done skinning the beast. He snapped his fingers and the rest of the bear burst into flames and was consumed by them in an instant. There was nothing left but ash, and a horrible smell of burnt flesh; one I feared would stay with me forever. I was disgusted with myself. Meanwhile the little man took out a spool of thread and a pair of sharp scissors. He began to sew the bears' flesh into...something. I didn't know what exactly, but I felt the stirrings of fear. After a few more moments the little man made a few slashes and shoved something inside them. He was done and he looked up from his work with satisfaction. I thought it resembled a lump of hair. He threw the bearskin over my shoulders. There were sleeves of a sort, and it was very long and went down to my feet. I don't know if you've ever smelled the reek of uncured animal flesh, but it's not very pleasant. And the chunks of meat were strategically placed to make me look deformed, and monstrous. They would rot soon, and I would feel the juice run down my neck soon enough. It was warm though; I suppose that was one good thing, the only good thing I could see so far.
"Okay, I'm wearing this monstrous piece," I said forcefully, "Where's your end of the bargain? You promised me wealth if I did this. If you don't keep your end of the bargain I'll not be tied to mine." I was beginning to feel safe. If he couldn't provide his end, I wouldn't have to do this after all. He must have seen my look for he laughed again.
"Don't think you can get out of this that easily. See where I inserted pockets in the sides? Everytime you reach your hand in them you'll see they're filled with gold. The gold will never fade, or dwindle or go away. And no, it's not stolen. It's perfectly legitimate, and safe. Now then, I'll be watching to make sure you keep your end of the bargain. The cloak will be your bed. If you sleep in another, you break the deal and your soul is mine. If you wash your hair or face or clothes or body, your soul is mine. If you comb or clip your hair or nails, your s-"
"-soul is mine, I get it I get it. You can leave now. I'll see you in seven years." And with that I began walking towards the village. Every step I took caused juice and slime to run down my arms and neck and shoulders and legs. Blood dripped down, and I began to look monstrous. I felt sticky and unkempt already, and every step I took reminded me that there were seven more years to go. I dipped my hands in the pockets and was surprised to find many coins waiting there. I pulled out a handful and realized that they were all gold. I was richer than a king, and for a moment I forgot my troubles. At that moment my stomach rumbled. I decided to go to the village and get something to eat and drink and find a place for the night.
As soon as the people from the village saw me they gave me a frightened look and dashed off to their homes. Doors slammed and locked. I came to the first in and saw that they were looking very scared as well. The owner was about to bar their door too but I took out a handful of gold and his greed overcame his wish to shut me out. He opened the door wide and I was treated well. I was given the very best meals. I tried to eat the meat but the rank odor of the bear meat kept me from having much of an appetite for anything, much less meat. I ate vegetables, and fruits, and all dishes without meat in them. I drank the very best ciders, and in time felt quite satisfied. They led me to a room with a large luxurious down- filled bed. I looked longingly at the soft bed but had to keep to my bargain. I curled up on the floor, wrapping the bearskin around me tightly. This was the moment I realized just how skillful the little man had been. The chunks of fat had been placed strategically in the very worst spots. Finding a comfortable position was impossible. I tossed and turned all that night, all the while cursing the strange little man, though I knew that the only fault was my own.
Sabina
In time I got used to being hungry always. It was unimportant when I considered our other troubles. My father had had to sell even the little three-bedroom cottage. We moved into town, but it wasn't a pleasant time. The town was many miles away from our quiet farm, and surely the market for my treasured needlework would be greater there. My father would have to sell others crops instead of our own. And he would, but he was depressed. My sisters couldn't do anything but giggle and laugh about all of the fine things we would do when we got there. I started to resent them. Could they not see our troubles? Did they feel that they were exempt from trying to help the family make a living? They spent more of our precious money than my father and myself combined, and ten times more!
The day we moved was a sad day. We would be leaving the quiet comfort of the country for the bustling noisy activity of the city. I packed up my few things with care. Gently for the few things that I had kept were of great worth to me. My sisters threw their things into bags helter-skelter. They were loaded and ready to go before my father and I. We both took our time, reminiscing and walking among our once plentiful rows of vegetables and fruits. We said goodbye in our own ways, and at noon we could put it off no longer. My sisters were screeching for us to get into the cart so we could go. I said my last goodbye and got in the cart. We were off.
The trip to the city took until dawn the next morning. It was hard, and bumpy, and jolting. I didn't complained, just stared vacantly at the passing landscape. My sisters chattered like two birds. They wouldn't be quiet and I did my best to block them out. It was useless, their mindless chattering drove me insane, and I began to wish wistfully for our quiet country life. I'm not one to dwell on such things though, and I looked forward, if not with happiness, at least without a foreboding sense of dread. When we finally reached our new house I finally was joyful. It was quaint and pleasing to the eye. Very small, probably with only two bedrooms this time, and not much space, but the outside was very pleasant. I squealed with delight and rushed over to take a closer look. My sisters, however, looked as if they had swallowed a bug. "How can we live in such a tiny apartment?" they would ask, "Such a place is not fitting for two as fair to look upon as we are." They scoffed, but I loved it. And it had the loveliest garden in back. It was small, and unkempt, hardly more than a weed patch, but it reminded me of home and I rushed over first thing to start weeding. I saved the poor lavender and rosemary from choking on the weeds. Next I trimmed the climbing jasmine and honeysuckle that was growing out of control. That first day I accomplished much, and my garden became my sanctuary. I asked my sisters if they wanted to help, but they scoffed and said, "Ruin our hands with such menial work? Hardly."
I didn't understand their mood, had we not grown up simple farmers? Were we not hardworking, and fair people? Then why did they act as though they were queens and I the servant? It made no sense, but I reminded myself once more that I had killed mother, and they were justified to treat me however they wished.
That first day was a crossing-over point for me. While I still missed our quiet farmhouse, and all of the memories, I fell in love with the house, small as it was, and with the little cries from the vendors, and the babble of people walking in the streets. We lived on the poor side of town, and our neighbors were poor as well, but they were happy, and content with life. Children screamed in the streets as they played their noisy games. Mothers called to their children to be safe, and chatted with their neighbors, and fathers discussed aspects of work, or where this or that blacksmith or tailor worked, and what they could do to help the families near them who had come on harder times than they themselves had come upon. The people were friendly, and as I worked in my garden I could hear their friendly chatter.
My sisters scoffed at it all, and complained about the 'squalor' we lived in. I wanted to scream at them, 'do you not see the beauties of this town? Do you not hear the kindness of the people? Do you not long to be part of this community, part of this loving family?'
I could not work in my garden forever though, and my family needed money to put food on the table. I took up my needle once again, and sat down inside to work. I missed the gentle chatter of the people though, so I took a chair and sat out in the front yard while I worked. My new pattern gathered shape around my eyes, influenced by the kindness, and the lovingness of the people. It was turning out to be my best work ever, and I was so absorbed that I didn't notice the pair of eyes looking over my shoulder. After five minutes I finally felt something there and turned around to find a young girl watching me work. She looked to be about my age, with dark hair and a quick smile. She was beautiful certainly, but not in the way of traditional beauty. She caught the eye with her simple grace even when she wasn't moving. I thought that she'd make a wonderful dancer.
"What are you making?" she asked me kindly.
"It's going to be a tapestry. What do you think so far?"
The girl looked at the gentle designs. The picture was of a cottage, all soft flowing lines and beautiful trim. The colors were exquisitely matched. But that wasn't the most remarkable. It was a cottage like no other; because it you looked past the picture you would see that the cottage was actually a girl. A very pretty smiling girl. You could see love, and kindness shine out of her eyes. It wasn't finished yet though, because I was planning on making smaller buildings around it. Those building would transform into her family. Like I said, my best work so far. I was proud of it, but I knew that it would rip at my heart to sell it like I knew I would have to eventually. We had to eat after all.
"It's beautiful." The girl said truthfully. "My name is Anna Marie. I live there." She pointed at a house just down the street from mine. "You can call me Ann. Everybody does. Who's it for?" she asked, indicating the tapestry.
"Whoever offers the best price I suppose." I said with a small pang to my heart. The girl shrank away from me for a moment, like I had said something monstrous.
"You would sell your soul?" she whispered.
"My soul?" I asked confused, "It's just a tapestry."
"Just a tapestry." The girl repeated in a dull voice, "Do you think that any person could do that? And they call me naive. You must be touched in the head if you believe that. I know better." She moved closer to me, but I realized that the discussion was over from the tone of her voice and the subtle difference in posture. I was confused, but I decided that the tapestry wouldn't sew itself. I began again. Ann watched, but we didn't speak again that day. I had much to think of...
Whew! That chapter was the same size as the last one. Weird. This one felt longer to me. Anyway, read and review, you know what to do. And tell me what you think.