Fairy Stories & Other Tales

              If wishes were dreams and dreams could come true, sleep would have a much higher value than it has typically been given in this world.  As it happens, there is such a world where the state of things makes dreams very real.  And this is a story from there...               Linus Linden, of the Linden clan, had been having strange dreams of late.  He had awoken morning after morning to a room that was increasingly becoming rather full of zoo animals.  Perhaps in the room of a young lad who wanted nothing more than a herd of exotic pets, or a young lady who greatly desired a career in zoology — or simply a zoologist’s room for that matter—this would not be that unusual.   But Linus Linden was none of those.   And that made the elephants, the chimpanzees, the zebras, the giraffes, the meerkats and the one lion all the ...

   Once, maybe, a girl found herself in a stark room.  It seemed bare, empty.  And yet, as she took a step, a wooden stand appeared.  On the stand was placed a delicate crystal vial.  The vase was cut with flower patterns, and the stopper a crystal leaf.  Its beauty was astounding, too lovely not to pick up and examine such exquisite craftsmanship, too intricate not to stretch fingers towards the stopper and lift it.  As the girl did so, she bent her head toward the vessel, and found, arising from the opening, an aroma of purest rose.         When she had breathed her fill, the girl took another step.  And as she did, another wooden stand appeared, with another vial, this one as intricate as the first.  She knew what to do.  Lifting the stopper, she did not even need to raise the bottle to her nose, for the smell of jasmine permeated her every sense.  When satiated with jasmine, the girl took another step, ...

              Hazel stood on a jutted rock staring down, down, down into the canyon below.  Her hands were on her hips and she was frowning.               There was something down there making a cacophony of sound.  Down in the depths of the basin.  In only a few minutes, the dawn would hit the rocks, and fill it with a warm rust-colored light.  The glinting navy of the winding river would light up like gold.  And hanging bows of rich green foliage would suddenly appear, decorating the canyon walls in long drips as though they were emeralds hung from chains.  It was Hazel's job to take care of all of it, including finding out who or what was making such a terrible racket.               Hazel was growing impatient.        ...

'There's something about eighty,' said the old woman, 'that frees one from mortality.  How strange to think there was once a time when I feared death.  But that was only a symptom.  For what I feared was the metaphysically unknown.  A life filled with 'withouts.'  And now, I know what my life has been, and there is no need to fear 'withouts' — in fact there never was. 'My days are narrow things to my age-young dreams.  And the strangest thing of all is that I am content to sit and talk to you, cat.'

From his bedroom window, Jack could see a frolic of fun laid out before him like a feast of all his favorite foods.   Balls were kicked and thrown.   Ants were burned (and eaten).   Dirt was piled, and then knocked down as great clouds of dust swirled their small tornadoes about the air.   Hoses were sprayed to the tune of glorious shrieks.   And Jack could participate in none of it.   This was because Jack was ill.   And illness meant one horrible thing: fun was forbidden.   Worst of all, the horrid truth was that even if he had been allowed, he would not have participated.   That was how fuzzy and painful his head was, and how bad his cough, and how achy his body.   Nothing made him feel better, and that was a miserable thought.   Thus, he had spent the day in bed, in a daze of hazy sleep, his head pulsing with un-expelled mucus, in general misery.             How annoy...