More About Fairy Tales
He grabbed the stone from my hand and began to inquire about its origin. The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?" "Let me go then," I said. After I took the needle from its place, I pryed my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel. It looked like an ordinary onion, with a brown papery peel, a smooth, lined, slightly yellowed outer layer. I turned it over and over in my hands, wondering how this vegetable could be of any help to me. "Its juices make all who consume it unable to tell a falsehood for a short period of time. Feed this to one from whom you must extract important and true information from. Use it wisely," the old woman advised. I cupped the onion in my hands as if it were a fragile ornament that would shatter into millions of tiny magical pieces of it were dropped. I knew this powerful bulb would aid me on my journey. As I closed my eyes I could hear my father's voice guide me along the hidden pathways of the mountain unbeknownst to boys who sit and watch the sun rise and fall in their beds. A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of colored tablets and sticks. "Stay for a game," he said to me. "After you win your game with me I'll let you go on your way." I watched as the folds of his skin began to swallow him alive under the sadness of defeat.
Via The Generator Blog.
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