The Committee for Expanding the Enchanted Wood

 Once upon a time there was a little boy who wandered the woods every day. He wasn't afraid, even though there was a fairly good chance that the woods were enchanted.

    He wasn't afraid mostly because his parents weren't afraid. And why weren't his parents afraid?

    Well, what was the most an enchanted wood could do to him? What was there to fear, in an ultimate sense, really?

    It could have monsters, or cruel witches, or crueler fairies—but all of those were just adventures. They were only things of trying natures; things like stepping into a fairy ring, or being cursed to be a goat, or walking a winding path that would have him lost in circles. Scary things, yes. But there is only one outcome that results from an adventure in an enchanted wood, and that is to be set free by some good being while enriching the adventurer into a person of extraordinary character.

    There are worse fates.

    Which is why his parents wanted him in the enchanted wood as often and as frequently as possible. It was safer. In fact, they did all they could to expand the magic of the enchanted wood so that other children would have a chance to have adventures that might be scary, life-altering, and of great challenge. But nothing more. And, indeed, when they were really pressed—when they really truly stopped to think with their soul—it was what all the parents wanted for their child, provided they could strike a deal for some extra protection from the nearby village witch.

    Thus began The Committee for Expanding the Enchanted Wood (an obvious outcome, as parents are always thinking of new committees), and if you look hard enough for it—somewhere near your local wood—you might find your nearest branch, too.

Popular posts from this blog

The Library at the Edge of the Universe

 There was, of course, a library at the edge of the universe. It was built to fit the space. That space, for the moment, was infinite. But it was the kind of infinite that was smaller than other kinds of infinite — both space and libraries are funny that way.     This library had an agenda. Most do. But this one's was more specific than most. It wanted to hold all the books in the universe, whether they liked it or not. And it got the books by poking and prodding the universe in all kinds of different ways, until it gave up the literary ghost. Well, all the literary ghosts.     So. There sat a library at the edge of space that housed all the books in the universe. It mostly sat, anyway. Sometimes it stood. Occasionally it stretched a bit. And on two occasions, yawns were recorded as galaxies doing a funny little seismic shift.     It might yawn again. In an eon or two.     Because it is waiting.     It's been waiting for an infinite amount of time. One of the smaller infinites
Read more

The Shadows

The light shown on Anya’s fingers. It curled around her palm and danced. This, she thought, was the sheer pleasure of having magic.       But in the midst of her play, a shadow grew.   It was not unexpected; it was the cost of doing magic, for it always begot shadows.   But it never ceased to offer discomfort.   If she could find a way to practice her craft and leave behind the adjacent darkness, she would.          Anya was not fond of the dark, or shadows, or of the sense of unease that grew whenever she let the flickering brightness dance.   But, too, there was a feeling of wholeness in her work.   How could that be, such fulfillment when darkness lay about her?   A constant wonder—the weight of it only born by extinguishing the light for a time until she could bear it again.       Today was such a time.          Anya took the light, and threw it at the darkness.   The next breath, and it was gone.   Elimination brought palpable relief, while at the same time she felt the loss of
Read more

As Usual

 Once upon a time, when the air was colder and the nights more dark, a fire gleamed in the distance.      It moved and crept and finally it swept, the whole world engulfed in it's flames.     When the flames died, all that remained was char. For a time.     Until the first shoot rose. The thought of fire died a death made only by forgetting.     And, as usual, the world went on.
Read more