After a long and busy holiday break, it’s time to hit the books again. This means saying hello to algebra again. Eek! However, to ease into the school year, I have written a short piece to get back into routine. Enjoy:
Grandfather Georges Arcadia always told stories on Alsday. He liked to sit in his rocking chair and puff at his pipe while he told them. The long ivory and birch pipe would sit on the mantle, waiting for usage. Gwen Arcadia, his granddaughter knew them all by heart, but every eighth day of the week she’d sit on the cozy rug and wait. He’d always start with a question.
“Do you know much about our world, Gwen?” He’d ask.
She’d shake her head, even though she did and would reply:
“No, Grandfather, tell me about it.”
Eight year-old Gwen arrived that Saturday ready to listen. Last week Grandfather was gone on a hunting trip and she eagerly awaited his next story. She folded her legs and wrapped herself in a thick blanket with a mug of bo-bo (a drink that tastes much like coffee with cinnamon and vanilla) then waited. Grandfather had his pipe ready and his own feet were tucked into thick, wintry boots. He opened his eyes and smiled.
“You probably don’t know anything about the beginning of the world, do you Gwen?”
She shook her head, inwardly feeling rather confused at the fact that he didn’t start as usual. She shrugged to herself and waited for him to begin.
“Once there was a lonely being who simply existed. They say he was magnificent and powerful. Some said that he shone like the stars. This being decided to create a world. Our world. He created two groups of people. One group was like us, the other not so much. It wasn’t as if they were other beings. They were instead, half one, half the other.”
Gwen cocked her head.
“They were magic, Gwen. That’s what I mean. They were amazing. They could create ice and snow in the middle of summer, run as fast as the wind and become like the moon and sun. In a word, they were beautiful. But the people, for all their good points, were afraid of them. They respected and feared these powers. One day, a person spoke up against them. This discontent and rebellion grew. One, of the magical group, took the kingdom and ruled with an iron fist. They would not let their people die. It was too late, though. The fury that had built up erupted and the magic just up”-
Grandfather Georges snapped his fingers.
Gwen leaned forward, disappointed.
“But what happened?” She asked.
He shook his head.
“Nobody knows. Although now we know that not all of them disappeared. There are many that still remain. You know them as emperors, diplomats, and neighbors. Magic, nowadays, is a talent or a matter of blood. It’s not common. Very few have it. There are some.”
Georges nodded and leaned back.
“There are some.”
Gwen waited. There must be more.
“You used to know one, Gwen.”
She was startled and jumped up.
He smiled, wrinkles crinkling.