Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER.
Once upon a time there was a small girl, who lived with her foster grandparents. She wore two plaits in her hair. And her life was dull and really quite boring.
She collected the eggs, feed the chickens, and milked the cow.
And then one day, as she was feeding the chickens, she noticed a strange object in the chicken house. It was quite small, leather-like, and round. She collected the object and admired it for its glorious roundness. It fit neatly into her pocket.
Every day from that day on she looked for further strange objects in the chicken pen. Or an explanation. But her curiosity was confounded. There was never another object, and there seemed no purpose to the small round leather object she keep secreted away in her pocket, never revealed to a single soul.
The girl watched the chicken house day and night for signs, clues, traces.
One day during her morning inspection she noticed a trail of silver leading from the chicken house, it glistened in the sun, and lead away into the fields beyond.
She knew she had to complete her chores and return with the eggs and milk for breakfast or her step grandparents would be cross. But because of that silver trail, and its promise, she ignored her fears about returning late, and followed the glistening string.
As she walked the ball in her pocket began to warm. She felt drawn to feel its smooth, soft skin, like she had many times before, but this time she felt a warmth, she pulled it from her pocket, and it seemed to glow. Iridescence emanated from with in the ball, and then a pulse. The pulse grew stronger as she followed the gossamer thread.
And because of that, she was drawn further and further from the familiarity of the farm, and into the deep dark forest, a place long forbidden to her. The silver thread and the glowing ball pulled her deeper towards the darkest parts of the forest until finally the thread weaved its way around the base of one the forests largest and most ancient trees. It disappeared high into the boughs and the rustling silver leaves. The ball became more alive, pulsing, throbbing and threatening to burst its very seems. In fact she thought it quite likely the thing would detonate in her very hands, such was the power it contained.
Up she climbed.
Up, up, up until she felt the air closing in around her, always following the silver thread and feeling the pulse of the ball, which seemed to find a synchronicity with the life-force of the tree.
Before long she had reached the topmost branches. The ground was far below. The string disappeared into what seemed like a thicket, made of the silver thread, moss and straw. She reached her hand into the thicket, felt its soft inner layer, a nest of some sort she thought.
She climbed up further still until she could peer into the nest. She found the gossamer string woven with the most glorious feathers she had ever imagined. Golden, topaz, magenta and aquamarine. Before she could marvel longer at the feathers she noticed, at the very farthest side, lay a golden bird, its body slumped over as if in the deepest grief. Only the bird’s eyes moved. They met hers searchingly. She held up the now glowing, pulsing ball, and the bird’s eye filled with light.
As she had felt compelled to follow the thread, so too did she feel compelled to place the ball into the nest. As she gently set it down on softest feathers of the nest, the bird transformed, renewed with the joy of its return. A magical song burst forth from as if from the soul of the forest, as bewitching as it was beautiful. She fell deeply under its spell and was soon soundly asleep, dreaming a silver dream.
She woke later that night, in the forest lit by the silver light of a thousand fire flies. They led her home with a such great joy in her heart, and from that day forward if you looked closely, plaited into her hair, were the most tiny, shiny, gossamer threads of silver.
And now for something completely different.
Fuck Me, I’m Internet Dating.
A forward – and this is really just for those people who like “staying in or going out”. In fact you are either in or out. There really is no other fucking place to be, you are in or you are out. Unless, of course, you are the Grand Old Duke Of York.
Index.
Chapter 1. The 37 year old virgin (my first)
Chapter 2. A feast of farmers.
Chapter 3. Top 10 Cancellation excuses (inconveniently made when one is in full make up, and/or at least half way to venue)
Chapter 4. How to get from “hello” to “show me your tits” in 30 seconds.
Chapter 5. A smorgasbord of dick, fish and car/motorbike pixs. (featuring the all time favourite a of a guy on a quad bike fishing with his dick out)
Chapter 6. My wife left me for another woman.
Chapter 7. The (biggest) lying, cheating arsehole
Chapter 8. Another lying, cheating arsehole.
Chapter 9. I love you but…
Chapter 10. Men called Stuart.
Chapter 11. Self-destructive sex in vehicles.
Chapter 12. Self-destructive sex in nature, laneways and gardens.
Chapter 13. Coming to terms with self-destructive sex through therapy and more self-destructive sex.
Chapter 14. Unrequited love and a slight obsession.
Chapter 15. Scammers, Mirages and Foreign Princes.
Chapter 16. Who the fuck is “easy going” and why the fuck would we like them.
Chapter 17. Mark my words…into the unknown.
An aside. Top 10 reasons for instantly swiping left.
Coming soon.
Really? What the fuck were you thinking?
A guide to not writing the most boring profile in the world.