Idlebones

Tiny Dancer 5

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The King awoke slowly, as he always did. He opened his tired eyes,
streaked with the dried tears that caressed his cheeks to sleep the
night before. For a moment, every morning, there was a brief moment of
happiness, and his mouth would crack into a smile of one who had
slept, quite literally, the sleep of kings. His memory awoke slowly,
pouring colour into the world and bringing with it remembrance, and
the smile that once was ever present on the old kings face, slowly
faded once more. He thought of his people, as he always did, and then
of his lost love, and how she would smooth his face with her soft palm
and kiss his cheek each morning with a lips that blossomed warmth into
his cool, old face.

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Tiny Dancer 6

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gracie’s Father was standing by the freshly lit fire when she awoke,
squeezing his mouse hair socks with the big toe holes against the wood
of the drying frame. The acorn shell wash basin sat rocking by his
side, filled to the brim with washing as steam rose elegantly from
within to brush the wooden boards of the roof of their home. Grace
pursed her lips against her wakening, and spread her arms about her
head in an exaggerated yawn.

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Tiny Dancer 7

 

  

 

Gracie and her father pushed through the undergrowth that surrounded
the castle and pulled apart a small clumb of grass that hid their little boat from the prying eyes. It sat with oars tucked into its sides, hidden away under some tightly
knotted brambles, disguised with a layer of brown flower peatals and leaves. Throwing their bags into the little wooden vessel that Damione had carved from a broken branch, they pulled and pushedto the waters edge and gently lowered it into the moat. Damione
climbed in first and then helped Gracie down, holding her thin waist
in his big strong hands as she stepped down from the bank. Gracie took
her place at the bow as Damione sat on root stump and lowered the oars
into the still waters. With long lazy sweeps he pushed the oars
through the silky skin of the moat, scattering water walker flies and
insects as they fished in the early morning light. Gracie loved to
lean her head over the bow and watch the water ripple and curl in
softly rolling V before the boat, letting her hands trail along either
side, enjoying the cool feel of it between her fingers. At the other
side, the boat was pulled up into the reeds and hidden away under more
brambles and they began to walk towards the forest, taking one
overhanging mouse trail after another until they reached the foot of
the first trees.

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Sophie & Paddy Chapter 6

Napoleon’s balloon leaned casually against the hedgerow. Up close,
Sophie and Paddy could see that it was indeed a big red and white balloon.
It had broad red and white bands around it, although the red looked
black until Napoleon held his lantern up to throw its light against
its side. The balloon rolled and sighed small eeks of satisfaction as it
rubbed its taunt silk against the dry leaves of the bushes, as if it
was sleepily trying to avoid the light that threatened to wake it up.
In the half light thrown by the lantern, they could see the large
wicker basket that sat moodily on the flower bed. It looked stern and
solid, putting up with the balloons wavering sleepyhead, grudgingly
lifting from the daffodils, then pressing back down on them firmly
every time the balloon rolled back towards the lantern, as if to say
“this time, were saying put!”. Eventually, the balloon would slowly
turn back on its pillow of leaves and the basket would have to lift
once more.

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Escape Part 3

 

 

Sid’s Candle flickers in his hand as I step behind him into the tunnel. His hand is shaking, I can tell. Maybe just from the cold, i tell myslef. It’s icy down here, and the rank musty smell of stale air pervades our senses until we have to bury our heads up to our noses in the warm collars of our coats. My breath steams through the material, dampening it against my mouth as I follow him down the narrow passage way. Sids’ outline in hunched beneath the yellow arc of the candle as it lights the damp stone walls for the first time in decades. They seem to glisten as he passes. I still have the image of that pale face in my mind, and I follow him closely, stealing furtive glances over my shoulder to the dimishing outline of the entrance every few steps. The ground is firm, but uneven. We take short searching steps, my hand on his shoulder for balance.

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