Thursday, November 11, 2010
I think I'm done with this one.
Everyone is asking "what is the story!? what is the story?!" Well, there is such a thing as a picture book, and gleaning the meaning as we go along; but since you all have ants in your pants, I will post a very abbreviated version of the story. Since I made up this little flash fiction I have fleshed it out and made it better, but it is still the core of the story I am now illustrating. So here it is:
There were three of us in the grandmother's room conspiring to build a scaffold out of the dining room chairs. The plum-cheeked boy, the girl with the red, red lips, and I clambered upon the chairs, clutching and scrambling to reach the topmost shelf of the china cupboard. Carefully, and not rattling the leaded glass in the doors, the boy reached in and pulled out a very special dish. It was a very heavy serving dish with pretty pictures of animals all around the circumference. The girl took the platter in her hands, "See what we can do." As we all watched the plate, the woodland animals capered through the minutely painted twirls of ivy, and little buds blossomed and twinkled pinkly. Fawns and rabbits and brown bears on their hind legs danced under the crackled glaze. I took hold of the plate. "No, we must put it back now." They protested. I felt a blush of anger as I wrested the dish from the rosy fat fingers of the other children. I made the bear to swallow up the rabbits, then he swept his razor claws through the spindle-neck of the fawn. I thought I saw the tiniest, wettest ruby well up through the cracked glaze, and then I broke the plate on the floor and stamped down the pieces. It was all because I despise that girl with the glossy black hair and the red, red lips.