irls: stories for kids A dark cloud descended upon the town. Vision impaired, men and women and children wandered, bumping into each other and holding each other for comfort in the dampness of their misfortune. Shops were looted and arrests cluttered the jails with high spirits and evil ambi- tion. There was, among the bodies of ghosts, a group of people who had hopes and dreams and a kind of daring conviction. These artists were scorned, feared, generally despised because they re- sisted the self - ab- - sorbed fate of doom and misplaced glory of blind- ness, and they would clutch to no one for any kind of comfort; though they would ask for a morsel of beef from a stranger. They wore tall, brightly col- oured top hats and capes that skimmed the rough pavement as they moved from strange times, when delight was taken in the absorption of like flesh as small solace for not having lived perhaps. These people were blind. The Artist was able to feel the flesh when others only pawed. The Artist heard laughing. He had left his inven- tion after having spent much time in it’s conception. He wan- dered now, as I said, eyes useless, nose smalling only mold and the mildew of a rotten world. He was led by the laughter of the girl, alive. Alive she was, groping and gnawing. She spoke out to the man. Shaded by her ache. - Who are you, come closer so you may help me. - Who are you? = Lm... - You were laughing. - I was laughing. - Why were you laughing? - At the tears that streamed down - What would you understand? - The use of your invention; come close so you may help me... - My invention! - Come close so you may help - Where is it? - It is here mangling my limbs and breaking my spirit and consuming me. It needs me and it has me. Will you help me? - I will help you. the Artist paused for a moment. His experience with this con- traption had led him to believe that it had a mind of it’s own, indeed it’s mind had the girl and the girl was being con- sumed. But was this an intelligent being? The light dimmed and faded with the revolution of the sun and he wished he could harness it’s energy. But it was no use being sentimental so he began to sing. - you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. you make me happy when skys are blue. you'll never know dear. how much i love you? oh please oh please don’t take my sun- shine away. = 4.am your sunshine your lovely pantomime you make me quacky... The two were laughing so loudly their stomachs tied up in knots and braids. the Artist drew closer, clumsily. his fingers plucked the steel for sound, gracefully edging the blades away from the girl’s flesh. how now not to be misunderstood withdrawing plates of sheer near precious bone. he had not seen tissue so fine. these dark days were. devoid of delicacies. the artist could remember faintly for the mildew mist shading his brow. he was the son of a printer. the customers were bizarre and luxuriously sane. the boy would repose among the shadow of a corner near where the table cloth curved around the. thick oak table. he would listen to the foreign languages that he never heard again. the accents of loving, of deliber- ate understanding. all a haze to him, now my face and formed puddles under my limp body. I dreamt of swimming and playing and understanding. - Where would you swim? me my friend I trust you mean no harm A child stum- - Upstream to the source. gentle soldier bled and fell over - an invention. are you going to ask for a Tubes and pulleys light and sharp metal edges mangled her limbs. She lay paralyzed dream- ing of a throne with wheels and a crown of juniper berries for her inappropropriate achievement. She had made a dis- covery. She wished her friends could have existed — to acknowledge this, or at least to have relieved some of the pain with a smooth stroke of a hand along her fore- head... town to country to city, along roads that weren’t roads but veins on the carcass earth. - this is hurting what sailor - oh but i don’t even know her ‘ - charm- ing - are you tense - yes - lies hope you be blessed or charmed truth predicts what - my limbs are as roots toa tree. my organs are pining. - be calm The Artist heard laughing. He and his top hat were listening for food, or the sound of carni- vores making do with a cow. These were 9 9 - When would you play? - When the brightness of the water-fall pours substance and floods darkness. story by Bonnie Gorst submitted by Rena Del Piere Gobbi x OKXKKOOOOODODOOOH oO S< the girls: stories for kids ‘A dark cloud descended upon the town. Vision impaired, men and women and children wandered, bumping into each other and. holding each other for comfort, in the dampness of their misfortune. Shops were looted and arrests cluttered the jails. with high spirits and evil ambi- tion. There ‘was, among the bodies of ghosts, a group of people who had hopes and dreams and akind of daring conviction. These artists were scorned, feared, generally despised because they re- sisted the self - ab- sorbed fate of doom and misplaced glory of blind- ness, and they would clutch to no one for any kind of comfort; though they would ask for a morsel of beef from a stranger. They wore tall, brightly col- oured top hats and capes that skimmed the rough pavement as they moved from town to country to city, along roads that weren't roads but veins on the carcass, earth. A child stum- bled and fell over an invention. Tubes and pulleys and sharp metal edges mangled her limbs. She lay paralyzed dream- ing of a throne with wheels and a crown of juniper berries for her inappropropriate achievement. She had made a dis- covery. She wished her friends could have existed to acknowledge this, or at least to have relieved some of the pain with a smooth stroke of a hand along her f head. ‘The Artist. heard laughing. He and his top hat were listening for food, or the sound of carni- vores making do with a cow. These were strange times, when delight was taken in the absorption of like flesh as small solace for not having lived perhaps. These people were blind. The Artist was able to feel the flesh when others only pawed, The Artist heard laughing, He had left his inven- tion after having spent much time in it’s conception. He wan- dered now, as I said, eyes useless, nose smalling only mold and the mildew of a rotten world. He was led by the laughter of the girl, ive. Alive she was, groping and gnawing. She spoke out to the man. Shaded by her ache. = Who are you, come Closer so you may help me. ~ Who are you? - fm... - You were laughing. ~ Lwas laughing. ~ Why were you laughing? ~ Atthe tears that streamed down my face and formed puddles under my limp body. I dreamt of swimming and playing and understanding. ~ Where would you swim? - Upstream to the source. - When would you play? - When the brightness of the water-fall pours substance and floods darkness. - What would you understand? = The use of your invention; come close so you may help me. - My invention! = Come close so you may help me. ~ Where is it? - Itis here mangling my limbs and breaking my spirit and consuming me. It needs me and it has me. Will you help me? = Iwill help you. the Artist paused for a moment. His experience with this con- traption had led him to believe that it had a mind of it’s own, indeed it’s mind had the girl and the girl was being con- sumed. But was this an intelligent being? The light dimmed and faded with the revolution of the sun and he wished he could harness it’s energy. But it was no use being sentimental so he began to sing. = you are my sunshine, my only sunshine. you make me happy when skys are blue. you'll never know dear. how much i love you? oh please oh please don’t take my si shine away. - iam your sunshine your lovely pantomime you make me quacky. ‘The two were laughing so loudly their stomachs tied. up in knots and braids. the Artist drew closer, clumsily. his fingers plucked the steel for sound, gracefully edging the blades away from the gir!’s flesh. how now not to be misunderstood withdrawing plates of sheer near precious bone. he had not seen tissue so fine. these dark days were devoid of delicacies. the artist could remember faintly for the mildew mist shading his brow. he was the son of a printer. the customers were bizarre ana luxuriously sane. the boy would repose among the shadow of a corner near where the table cloth curved around the thick oak table. he would listen to the foreign languages that he never heard again. the accents of loving, of deliber- ate understanding. all a haze to him, now ~ this is hurting me my friend [ trust you mean no harm gentle soldier are you going to ask for a light what sailor + oh but i don’t even know her > charm- ing - are you tense ~ yes - lies hope you be blessed or charmed truth predicts what = my limbs are as roots to a tree. my organs are pining, - be calm story by Bonnie Gorst submitted by Rena Del Piere Gobbi