Title: A Story for Snow Flake
Summary: Piotr tells a bedtime story to his Little Snow Flake.
A Story for Snow Flake
By J.L. Stone
"Tell me a
story, big brother, please"
A wisp of blonde hair passed
beneath Piotr's range of sight as its owner swooped down into his and
her bed. Illyana, being only four, understood very little except that
big brother was there to protect her and tell her stories before bed:
And, of course, do other things such as help take care of her when
she was sick and so on. The girl nestled down under the blankets,
much as a mouse would its burrow, and poked her head out of the top
to peak at Piotr. He couldn't help but smile as she flashed a grin at
him; her missing front tooth making a noticeable but adorable gap.
Piotr crawled into bed beside her, sharing it was a normal thing for
the two. He pulled the blankets up over his massive chest, which she
deemed a pillow to lay on, and she sighed impatiently.
"Tell
me the one about the Yam"
"Again?" Piotr said with
a laughing sigh. "Didn't I tell you that one last night"
"No,"
she protested, "last night you told me the one about the sword
and the yellow princess. I want to hear about the Yam! It is funny!
Please"
She was whining, but it wasn't unbearable, or
annoying. Piotr shook his head and patted her own smaller, blonde
one.
"Hush now, Little Snow Flake, it is time to be
quieter"
"M'kay," she said in a whisper, but it was
followed by a little giggle. Piotr smiled. He closed his eyes and
imagined the story in front of him, like a painting.
"There
was once a farmer who worked very hard. One day, during harvest, he
came across a patch of yams he had forgotten about. The tops of the
plants were all grayish and crumpled, but as the farmer was very
poor, he decided he would try to sell the yams for a little
something: But, when the farmer reached out and yanked the yam from
it's hole, the yam said, "Put me back where you got me"
The
farmer shrieked and dropped the yam, which protested loudly that the
farmer should have taken better care of it, and that he should put it
back and let it sleep all winter. When the farmer didn't put the yam
back, from behind his dog spoke.
"You should listen,"
the dog said. The farmer yelped, yet again, and rushed to the nearest
tree, yanking a switch out with which to whip the dog. The tree
yelped and said: "Hey, put that back!" the Farmer could
only stare. When he did not do as he was told, the stick said: "Yes!
Put me down! But gently"
The farmer ran from his farm and
into the streets, frightened and too skittish to return home. While
running, he was stopped by a fisherman who carried a fish basket on
his head. The fisherman grabbed him by the arm.
"Why are you
running?" the fisherman said.
"My yam spoke to me, then
the dog told me to drop it, and a picked a branch to whip the dog,
but the tree got angry and told me to put the branch down, but the
branch said to do it gently"
"Well, that's no so bad, is
it?" The fisherman replied. Then from his head, the fish basket
protested.
"It's funny, isn't it"
The fisherman
looked at the farmer, and they both began to run. Eventually they
came to a stream with a man bathing at the shallow. When their feet
touched the cold water they stopped running and stared. The bather
looked up with a shocked look.
"What's wrong?" he
asked.
"My yam told me to put it down, then the dog told me
to do it, then I tried to whip it with a switch, but the switch told
me to put it down, but gently"
"Then," said the
fisherman, "my fish basket said, 'It's funny isn't it"
"I
don't know what's wrong with that." the bather said, but then
the river spoke.
"You'd run too, if it happened to you"
The
bather got up and sprinted off, followed by the two men. When they
reached town, the men met up with a weaver who carried a bundle of
cloth on his head. The weaver stopped them in their running, and
asked with concern, "What's the matter"
"My yam
talked," the farmer said, "and so did the tree, the branch,
and the dog"
"And my fish basket," said the
fisherman.
"And the river," the bather said.
The
weaver looked at them all and with a puzzled look said, "What's
wrong with that"
"Now that IS odd, isn't it." the
bundle of cloth said. And the weaver went running with them.
The
four men ran until they reached the leader of their Collective. He
listened to all of their stories: About talking dogs and fish
baskets, even speaking rivers. The leader finally looked at them all
and told them to go home and pretend everything was fine, and if
anything else talked, they should just ignore it. Finally, when they
had all left, the leader sat back and sighed.
"Some people,"
he said.
"Yeah," said the chair, "can you imagine,
a talking yam."
Piotr looked down at Illyana, who was fast asleep and drooling on his chest. The big man smiled and stroked her hair, leaning over her only to turn out the light. He nestled into bed, hoping she had enjoyed what she'd heard of it. He closed his eyes and thought about what story he would tell to his Little Snow Flake tomorrow.
