This totally kills that stereotype about men being able to recognise only seven or eight colours.
(My word verification word is "shippil" but the important fact about it is that it is green. Candy green. I'm not kidding. I had to refresh this page several times before I got one that was green.)
They found the golden beans lying on a log in the land of the vine-dwellers. Great vines, as thick as young oak trees, rose and wound around each other, but far higher than oak trees. And high in the knocking leaves dwelt a strange folk - and they would sometimes use the bean blooms for pillows.
One day there was an uproar because three of the golden beans had been taken - they knew not where. Though beans in that land were plentiful - indeed, even more plentiful than beans, as we know them, will be produced in prodigious quantities from vines slightly higher than a man, theirs produced even more. But they regarded each bean with a significance that we reserve for precious jewels.
...and by chance, or possibly by fate, one of the vine-dwellers fell from the canopy. His fall was broken by a pile of bean-pods, but only enough to cushion his skull; his brain still rattled with the sudden meeting of the forest floor. Before the darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him, he thought he heard a voice; a tiny far-off voice that whispered, "Lenore."
Far off in the astral blackness, much farther away than the limits of the clearing allowed, appeared a tiny spark of light. It was there, and then gone. A little red dot, then gone again. The vine-dweller, who's name we still do not know, used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes and squinted towards where he thought it was. But he saw nothing more. His eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness. There weren’t even any shadows or shapes to contrast with the dungeon-like blackness.
. . . he woke to the sound of sniggering and to the hot, sulfurous breath of a young stone dragon. The vine-dwellers had always been wary of the dragons, who at night would pass under their leafy home, winding sinuously around the tall tree trunks, their inner fire felt rather their seen. Once in a blue moon (azure, of course, and not cornflower), the dragons would gather in a clearing and growl and mutter among themselves, while the vine-dwellers peered breathlessly down from their canopy above. And in the morning, when the dragons had gone, all the beans in the clearing would have been baked through. A popular delicacy made tastier by the element of danger.
It was a similar thermal fate our young hero imagined for himself as he quaked before the dragon, like a mouse supine and helpless between a cat's paws. But surely no cat had ever been as terrifying to a mouse as a stone dragon was to a vine-dweller! He braced himself for the bite as the dragon opened its huge granite jaws . . .
"You funny little thing! Was it you who called me? How did you know my name was Lenore?"
Our bean-tending tumble-tossed hero (who now was trying, and hard-pressed at that, to recall his own name, in case the stony-serpent-of-flame in her eventual wrath should inquire, that he might answer something mischievous) paused a moment to re-think, ere he asked: "O strange and terrible living silicate creature, exhalator of the magmatical heats --- "
"Do call me Lenore!"
"--- if you would deign to refrain from devouring me... "
"What? Me! Eat you? Hardly worth it, I'd imagine... how stringy and leaf-like you look! No good for my constitution, you know."
He sighed a breath of relief, but felt not much less suspicious, and went on: "... I can't say what put it there, but the name `Lenore' simply popped into my head, just now." Returning to his first fears puzzlement, he asked: "If, as you say, chewing me up is out, might I ask could you, Lenore, help me up? For there's a trickster about very much in want of chewing-out. Or what are you going to do with me?"
The She-drake smiled, in her lapidary-scaley way, (and he knew, somehow, that it was indeed a friendly smile) and said...
24 comments:
+JMJ+
*happiness*
That is probably my favourite shade of green ever! I don't know what it's name is. I just call it "candy green."
+JMJ+
I just realised there's more to your green than my green. =P
There's about three kinds of green: dark green, apple green and grass green. I like the gaudiness of it: candy green.
More to my green than your green?
Never mind. I got it. I think.
Word ver: dumshly
These tomatoes also remind me of Slimer.
And green lights at intersections.
+JMJ+
Now that I'm no longer rolling in ecstasy at the colours, I have your story . . . Father and son back from a string bean hunt!
phthalo green has been my personal favorite since art school :) word ver: phthidwel (kidding)
+JMJ+
*back from the "phthalo" Google image search*
This totally kills that stereotype about men being able to recognise only seven or eight colours.
(My word verification word is "shippil" but the important fact about it is that it is green. Candy green. I'm not kidding. I had to refresh this page several times before I got one that was green.)
Gotta love phthalo green.
And lemon yellow.
And all those colours that get a bad rep.
They found the golden beans lying on a log in the land of the vine-dwellers. Great vines, as thick as young oak trees, rose and wound around each other, but far higher than oak trees. And high in the knocking leaves dwelt a strange folk - and they would sometimes use the bean blooms for pillows.
One day there was an uproar because three of the golden beans had been taken - they knew not where. Though beans in that land were plentiful - indeed, even more plentiful than beans, as we know them, will be produced in prodigious quantities from vines slightly higher than a man, theirs produced even more. But they regarded each bean with a significance that we reserve for precious jewels.
...
Is this going to be a reader-contributing chain story?
+JMJ+
Be the answer to your own question, Christopher.
Yes, chain story!
+JMJ+
Since it was Christopher's idea, he gets to be next!
PRESSURE!!! Sounds like a Grimm version of the tale of Saint Wizzy. Let me sleep on it...
+JMJ+
I promise to go next! =)
...and by chance, or possibly by fate, one of the vine-dwellers fell from the canopy. His fall was broken by a pile of bean-pods, but only enough to cushion his skull; his brain still rattled with the sudden meeting of the forest floor. Before the darkness of unconsciousness enveloped him, he thought he heard a voice; a tiny far-off voice that whispered, "Lenore."
Far off in the astral blackness, much farther away than the limits of the clearing allowed, appeared a tiny spark of light. It was there, and then gone. A little red dot, then gone again. The vine-dweller, who's name we still do not know, used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his eyes and squinted towards where he thought it was. But he saw nothing more. His eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness. There weren’t even any shadows or shapes to contrast with the dungeon-like blackness.
...
+JMJ+
You threw "Lenore" in there just because you knew I was next, didn't you?
Not that I'm crying foul and stopping the game or anything. Just give me a few more hours . . . =P
Signed,
Marnm
(Yes, that's the captcha . . . and it's green.)
LOL! ;) In the immortal words of GrandMaster Flash: It's on you so whay you gonna do?
nameless here forevermore...
+JMJ+
. . . he woke to the sound of sniggering and to the hot, sulfurous breath of a young stone dragon. The vine-dwellers had always been wary of the dragons, who at night would pass under their leafy home, winding sinuously around the tall tree trunks, their inner fire felt rather their seen. Once in a blue moon (azure, of course, and not cornflower), the dragons would gather in a clearing and growl and mutter among themselves, while the vine-dwellers peered breathlessly down from their canopy above. And in the morning, when the dragons had gone, all the beans in the clearing would have been baked through. A popular delicacy made tastier by the element of danger.
It was a similar thermal fate our young hero imagined for himself as he quaked before the dragon, like a mouse supine and helpless between a cat's paws. But surely no cat had ever been as terrifying to a mouse as a stone dragon was to a vine-dweller! He braced himself for the bite as the dragon opened its huge granite jaws . . .
"You funny little thing! Was it you who called me? How did you know my name was Lenore?"
Our bean-tending tumble-tossed hero (who now was trying, and hard-pressed at that, to recall his own name, in case the stony-serpent-of-flame in her eventual wrath should inquire, that he might answer something mischievous) paused a moment to re-think, ere he asked:
"O strange and terrible living silicate creature, exhalator of the magmatical
heats --- "
"Do call me Lenore!"
"--- if you would deign to refrain from devouring me... "
"What? Me! Eat you? Hardly worth it, I'd imagine... how stringy and leaf-like you look! No good for my constitution, you know."
He sighed a breath of relief, but felt not much less suspicious, and went on: "... I can't say what put it there, but the name `Lenore' simply popped into my head, just now." Returning to his first fears puzzlement, he asked: "If, as you say, chewing me up is out, might I ask could you, Lenore, help me up? For there's a trickster about very much in want of chewing-out. Or what are you going to do with me?"
The She-drake smiled, in her lapidary-scaley way, (and he knew, somehow, that it was indeed a friendly smile) and said...
+JMJ+
To Whom It May Concern:
Before we go around again, is it all right to change the order so that it's not the same hapless person going after Christopher all the time?
Awaiting your kind response, I remain, etc.
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