Post by lollipop on Sept 9, 2007 0:41:18 GMT
This weekend I've been judging Beccalicious' competition on deviantART, and I came across this story when reading the prose entries. It's totally in fitting with Goblin Market! 
Here is the link: wordworks.deviantart.com/art/Monsters-63695512
And here is the story for those of you who won't read it from the link:
Monsters
The courtyard of Lukewater Elementary was covered in imagination. During lunch recess, the students brought it roaring out of the cafeteria doors with them like a current. They were soaked in it, and somehow they needed to spend what they could of imagination before they were called back to class. Talk of games while they’d waited for the whistle had brought it billowing out of their mouths and sweating out of their very skin, and there was only one way to dry it up: use it.
Some spent the imagination on gossip, others on all the forms of game they could come up with to accommodate the single kickball, jump rope, and clump of chalk that covered the surviving stock of playground equipment. Streams of imagination followed the lines of chalk, clusters of talk—some imagination even wandered off of its accord into the woods, where it might sink into the soil and produce a new mushroom or mutation of bird.
For the most part, the imagination was used wisely, and very little was left over once the children were whistled back inside. However, in the case of the recent transfer student William White, the resource was not being properly released. He stood idle, sunken back against the fence that ran the perimeter of the play area, and allowed himself to steep in his imagination.
William had an active mind. That day in October, it was spasming with ideas about monsters—fanged, clawed, furred and all combinations thereof. He’d been dreaming up monsters all day, and he’d thought so long and so hard, that he was practically submerged. A maple tree behind him dropped burning leaves into his hair, but he wasn’t bothered.
Imagination, too, splashed unnoticed at his feet, and in it swam teeth and terrifying eyes. He normally would not have felt so threatened by his own make-believe, but at the moment, he felt as if the imagination was breathing down his neck. It felt too much like fangs and claws and fur; he just couldn’t stop thinking about monsters. And the more he thought, the more of them he felt taking up his company.
His own eyes looked so deeply into his imagination they were unable to focus on what was in front of him.
“What’s your name?” A voice chirped.
William blinked and his eyes finally breathed, no longer underwater; before him stood a small something of a girl in a patchwork dress and dirty sneakers. She couldn’t be older than Mr. Steven’s kindergarteners, some years below him. He’d just turned ten.
“What’s your name?” she repeated, waving her arms.
“Me?” He asked without being able to help it.
“Yeah, you. Who else? The tree?” the girl laughed. “I’m Holly.”
Glancing up at the tree, William’s face fixed into an expression of utter seriousness. “No, not the tree. I thought you meant the—no, wait. I’m William.”
“What’d I mean?” Holly grinned. “Who’s here?”
"Nobody." William muttered.
“No! Tell me!” Imagination boiled beneath her features.
“The monsters,” he explained. “They’ve been following me around all day.” The last sentence slid off of his tongue more than it was actually spoken.
The girl puffed up her cheeks. “Monsters?” she asked; clearly, she couldn’t see them. It was just as well, William thought.
“I was thinkin’ about them in school, and thinkin’ more in lunch, and now I think I thought ‘em up too well and they won’t go away,” he said. Suddenly, there was much more behind him than the maple tree; his imagination swelled upward and spread appendages, insect and animal sorts.
Holly scratched at the tie that held her ponytail. “I got a horse that follows me around. She’s full of rainbows.”
“A horse?” William secretly envied her rainbows.
“Her name’s Lola. Wanna see her?”
“Maybe not now…” William thought. He flapped his hands back and felt a monstrous flare. Avoiding her expectant eyes he stalled, searching for a means to escape the patchwork girl, but she had cornered him. Meanwhile, some feelers and fingers had sorted out of the mass of imagination, prodding at the back of his neck.
“Play, y’know, maybe we can play a story or something.” Lisa continued. “It can have monsters and horses and everything.” Lisa had a bunch of dress in either fist and shook it emphatically, showering the ground with the idea.
“Um…” the boy said (over the munching and growling and howling).
“You’ll like her. I bet your monsters will like her—I like her.” The little girl insisted. And before William could prevent it, she had ruffled her hands out of her dress and swung them up, as if to perform a grand summoning.
“Here she comes down from the sky, with a saddle of clouds and she’s got wings to fly her around the moon—!” Holly announced.
William had only managed to splutter a sound like “hurgh” in warning before the courtyard was hit with a high-pitched animal shriek. The sounds of a brutal struggle followed on hooves and there the howls entered, as well as the final, decisive crunch of a large set of jaws.
A muffled silence followed, in which all the children at recess had turned to stare. Then, abruptly, Holly the kindergartener was smacked with a colorful splash across the body. She sucked in her face and looked at the mess: it ran in rainbow rivulets down her dress. She gaped.
“Lola?”
Here is the link: wordworks.deviantart.com/art/Monsters-63695512
And here is the story for those of you who won't read it from the link:
Monsters
The courtyard of Lukewater Elementary was covered in imagination. During lunch recess, the students brought it roaring out of the cafeteria doors with them like a current. They were soaked in it, and somehow they needed to spend what they could of imagination before they were called back to class. Talk of games while they’d waited for the whistle had brought it billowing out of their mouths and sweating out of their very skin, and there was only one way to dry it up: use it.
Some spent the imagination on gossip, others on all the forms of game they could come up with to accommodate the single kickball, jump rope, and clump of chalk that covered the surviving stock of playground equipment. Streams of imagination followed the lines of chalk, clusters of talk—some imagination even wandered off of its accord into the woods, where it might sink into the soil and produce a new mushroom or mutation of bird.
For the most part, the imagination was used wisely, and very little was left over once the children were whistled back inside. However, in the case of the recent transfer student William White, the resource was not being properly released. He stood idle, sunken back against the fence that ran the perimeter of the play area, and allowed himself to steep in his imagination.
William had an active mind. That day in October, it was spasming with ideas about monsters—fanged, clawed, furred and all combinations thereof. He’d been dreaming up monsters all day, and he’d thought so long and so hard, that he was practically submerged. A maple tree behind him dropped burning leaves into his hair, but he wasn’t bothered.
Imagination, too, splashed unnoticed at his feet, and in it swam teeth and terrifying eyes. He normally would not have felt so threatened by his own make-believe, but at the moment, he felt as if the imagination was breathing down his neck. It felt too much like fangs and claws and fur; he just couldn’t stop thinking about monsters. And the more he thought, the more of them he felt taking up his company.
His own eyes looked so deeply into his imagination they were unable to focus on what was in front of him.
“What’s your name?” A voice chirped.
William blinked and his eyes finally breathed, no longer underwater; before him stood a small something of a girl in a patchwork dress and dirty sneakers. She couldn’t be older than Mr. Steven’s kindergarteners, some years below him. He’d just turned ten.
“What’s your name?” she repeated, waving her arms.
“Me?” He asked without being able to help it.
“Yeah, you. Who else? The tree?” the girl laughed. “I’m Holly.”
Glancing up at the tree, William’s face fixed into an expression of utter seriousness. “No, not the tree. I thought you meant the—no, wait. I’m William.”
“What’d I mean?” Holly grinned. “Who’s here?”
"Nobody." William muttered.
“No! Tell me!” Imagination boiled beneath her features.
“The monsters,” he explained. “They’ve been following me around all day.” The last sentence slid off of his tongue more than it was actually spoken.
The girl puffed up her cheeks. “Monsters?” she asked; clearly, she couldn’t see them. It was just as well, William thought.
“I was thinkin’ about them in school, and thinkin’ more in lunch, and now I think I thought ‘em up too well and they won’t go away,” he said. Suddenly, there was much more behind him than the maple tree; his imagination swelled upward and spread appendages, insect and animal sorts.
Holly scratched at the tie that held her ponytail. “I got a horse that follows me around. She’s full of rainbows.”
“A horse?” William secretly envied her rainbows.
“Her name’s Lola. Wanna see her?”
“Maybe not now…” William thought. He flapped his hands back and felt a monstrous flare. Avoiding her expectant eyes he stalled, searching for a means to escape the patchwork girl, but she had cornered him. Meanwhile, some feelers and fingers had sorted out of the mass of imagination, prodding at the back of his neck.
“Play, y’know, maybe we can play a story or something.” Lisa continued. “It can have monsters and horses and everything.” Lisa had a bunch of dress in either fist and shook it emphatically, showering the ground with the idea.
“Um…” the boy said (over the munching and growling and howling).
“You’ll like her. I bet your monsters will like her—I like her.” The little girl insisted. And before William could prevent it, she had ruffled her hands out of her dress and swung them up, as if to perform a grand summoning.
“Here she comes down from the sky, with a saddle of clouds and she’s got wings to fly her around the moon—!” Holly announced.
William had only managed to splutter a sound like “hurgh” in warning before the courtyard was hit with a high-pitched animal shriek. The sounds of a brutal struggle followed on hooves and there the howls entered, as well as the final, decisive crunch of a large set of jaws.
A muffled silence followed, in which all the children at recess had turned to stare. Then, abruptly, Holly the kindergartener was smacked with a colorful splash across the body. She sucked in her face and looked at the mess: it ran in rainbow rivulets down her dress. She gaped.
“Lola?”
