A Fable
(First published in Borderlines Vol. II Literary Anthology, a publication of the University of Portsmouth, United Kingdom, Summer 2008.)
Once upon a time there was a woman who spent her life trying to keep a beach ball under water - a task given to her by a wicked witch when she was born. The witch warned her something terrible would happen to her mother if she were to allow the beach ball to raise above the water. The beach ball was very heavy. It was filled with the family grief. The woman didn’t know this, but she used all her energy to comply with the task. She was a rule-follower. Her hair, which was pitch black, and stood straight up from her head, fell out the next day, and eventually grew back in the softest shade of yellow ever seen on the face of the earth. This was a sure sign she had been chosen for something. She had a pale, clear forehead and a look of sweetest innocence. Her eyebrows were so fair they couldn’t be seen. It was a hard life, forever having to keep the beach ball under water, through every minute and every hour of the day and night - through adolescence, high school, college, marriage, the birthing and raising of her children. On the surface, she looked just fine. No one would ever have guessed how hard she was working, how very unusual were the circumstances of her life. (Or maybe they were typical. It was not for her to know.) The yellow hair didn’t help much either; didn’t bring her any sympathy. (Innocence is not always a useful trait.) Finally, an old woman came to her, beautiful in her ugliness, and informed her it was time to let go of the ball. And she would help. The woman with the ball was afraid. She had held it for so long it was almost second nature to her. Then there was the question of her mother and the witch. The old woman laughed and turned into a white wolf. The ball shot into the air like Old Faithful, drenching everyone for miles around. It was a regular tsunami, but amazingly and despite complaints, not one person actually drowned. In fact, some people found it refreshing, and those who didn’t were ultimately cleansed in spite of themselves. Except for some unusually well developed biceps, and a tendency to bursitis, the yellow haired woman lived happily ever after.
Once upon a time there was a woman who spent her life trying to keep a beach ball under water - a task given to her by a wicked witch when she was born. The witch warned her something terrible would happen to her mother if she were to allow the beach ball to raise above the water. The beach ball was very heavy. It was filled with the family grief. The woman didn’t know this, but she used all her energy to comply with the task. She was a rule-follower. Her hair, which was pitch black, and stood straight up from her head, fell out the next day, and eventually grew back in the softest shade of yellow ever seen on the face of the earth. This was a sure sign she had been chosen for something. She had a pale, clear forehead and a look of sweetest innocence. Her eyebrows were so fair they couldn’t be seen. It was a hard life, forever having to keep the beach ball under water, through every minute and every hour of the day and night - through adolescence, high school, college, marriage, the birthing and raising of her children. On the surface, she looked just fine. No one would ever have guessed how hard she was working, how very unusual were the circumstances of her life. (Or maybe they were typical. It was not for her to know.) The yellow hair didn’t help much either; didn’t bring her any sympathy. (Innocence is not always a useful trait.) Finally, an old woman came to her, beautiful in her ugliness, and informed her it was time to let go of the ball. And she would help. The woman with the ball was afraid. She had held it for so long it was almost second nature to her. Then there was the question of her mother and the witch. The old woman laughed and turned into a white wolf. The ball shot into the air like Old Faithful, drenching everyone for miles around. It was a regular tsunami, but amazingly and despite complaints, not one person actually drowned. In fact, some people found it refreshing, and those who didn’t were ultimately cleansed in spite of themselves. Except for some unusually well developed biceps, and a tendency to bursitis, the yellow haired woman lived happily ever after.
Comments