Wednesday, August 19, 2009

A Favre-y Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful Southern Belle named Bridgette. She was originally raised in a rundown swamp by a woman named Mrs. Ippi, but grew graceful and lovely over time, and eventually had her debutante ball in the big city of Atlantis, which was, of course, the social center of the Old South. After a short while, however, she was courted by a kindly Northern gentleman named Wes Consin, who wooed her with sweet promises and whisked her off to a village in an exciting land that she had never heard of before … a land unlike anything she had ever seen! A land of cold harsh winters and icy hard ground. Bridgette was very excited.

Oh, how she loved Wes, and oh, how Wes loved her. It was truly a match made in heaven. Every Sunday, they would go dancing together, and Bridgette never missed a waltz. Sometimes there were grand post-harvest balls in which couples from the various village consortiums would compete against each other, and Wes and Bridgette got to dance for their consortium many, many times. They even won the Grand Prize once, and were King & Queen of all the land!

But no fairy tale is without its dark side, and not even something so beautiful as the romance between Wes and Bridgette could last forever. Wes still loved her madly, and some say it was the Village Elders (who controlled the coffers) that secretly felt that, even though she was still one of the most wonderful dancers in the world, her beauty was starting to wane. Others blamed Bridgette herself, claiming that she had grown self-centered and demanding. But whatever the reasons, Bridgette, at long last and with fond memories, felt she had to leave the village.

Though somewhat saddened at bidding her past farewell, she was almost giddy with excitement about the adventure that lay before her. It was obvious that she was very confused, for while the color of the ball gown in which she danced remained the same, she traveled to the biggest town she could find – far distant, in every way, from the charming village she had left behind.

Bridgette danced recklessly there – they didn’t use the same steps, and she often became confused. In fact, as often as her feet would touch down lightly and elegantly, drawing gasps of awe from onlookers, she would clumsily end up dancing with gentlemen from other towns! After just a short while in the chaotic environment of the bustling metropolis, Bridgette decided that she no longer had the desire to dance.

Soon, though, she became restless, and knew that she could not continue to deny her passion. She secretly longed to go home to the small village and be with Wes, but knew it could never be. Something she didn’t know, however, was that the big city had changed her. She had grown spiteful and hateful, and deep inside, sought to exact a harsh revenge on the Village Elders by whom she felt betrayed.

She moved back to a different village in the same consortium, just down the road from Wes’ castle. The two villages were bitter rivals, and held two competitive dance festivals each year, with much pride being taken by the victor. Bridgette felt that defeating Wes’ village would be the sweetest revenge of all, but alas, Wes was even more bitter for being spurned, and felt that Bridgette's return was a proverbial slap to his face. At both events, Wes and his new partner Erin tripped the light fantastic with such passion - nay, fury - that Bridgette became very addled and disoriented, and fell to the floor many, many times.

Epilogue: Though Wes had regained his pride, and happiness and joy were rampant in all corners of his village for many months, he knew that the glorious merriment would someday cease. And in the end, though he and Erin danced valiantly in the post-harvest festival, they eventually lost ...

To a troupe of dancing Bears, of all things!

3 comments:

Pick-a-lilly said...

That is hilarious! Vicious, but hilarious!

The Dead Acorn said...

What? I don't know what you're talking about ... it's just a little exploration into writing fantasy. Except for that last part. That ain't fiction.

Jonny Hamachi said...

Yeah, Well...





Go Pack!!