|Daughter of the Sea
Author: Ilsa Immerman PM
See title.Rated: Fiction K - English - Words: 641 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 05-04-03 - id: 1295149
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: Supposed to be written kind of like a fairy tale. Didn't turn out too well I'm afraid. The whole twist in this story was bummed off a story I read in gr. 11 english called Delicacies (I forget the author). Hopefully, people will get it.
Once upon a time there was an old man who lived in a blue house overlooking the sea. The house was built on the edge of a cliff that jutted out into the water like a great stone tongue lapping up the waves. The tides crested and fell, regular as clockwork, sending a fine salty spray into the air as they crashed against the rocks below.
Every morning the old man awoke to the raucous crowing of gulls and the siren melodies of the sea. Every morning he would rise from his bed, much too large for himself alone, put on his slippers and groan as he walked to a meager kitchen where a single window peered out into the azure sky. He would sit down and his old bones would creak as much as the old chair he sat on. He would eat something simple, fish or seaweed, and then he would gaze wistfully out at the rippling sea and feel lonely.
The old man was very much alone in the world for his wife had died years before and left him with no child. He never remarried; he could not bear to part from the sea to whom he had given the body of his beloved wife. But oh, how he longed for a child to call his own! How he longed for a daughter to love and spoil!
Every night he would leave his house, hike down from his cliff, and walk barefoot on the beach. Then he would stand at a single spot with the sand between his toes, a salty breeze caught in the tangles of his beard, and he would pray to the sea for a daughter to call his own.
And then one day, his wish would come true. A baby would be washed ashore in a cradle made of seaweed. A daughter to call his own! Then he would take her home; he would love her and spoil her and she would love him in return.
But the girl would not speak the tongue of man, she would speak only in the language of the sea. She would crow like the seagulls, murmur like the wave but she would never learn the old man's name. They would be happy nonetheless and the old man would love her and she would love him in return.
She would grow into a beautiful young woman and the old man would take her to the village, to learn proper manners and to marry a handsome youung man. She would dearly miss the sea but she would leave because the old man loved her and she loved him in return.
She would grow despondent in the village for she missed the music of the sea. The village would be too loud and the smoky air would suffocate her. Then the old man would worry and hasten to find her a husband for he loved her so.
And one day she would run away back to the blue house on the cliff by the sea and the old man would chase after her, with the husband he had found for her. But she would only wave goodbye before leaping back into the open arms of the sea.
The old man would stand at a single spot on the beach with the sand between his toes, a salty breeze caught in the tangles of his beard, with tears in his eyes, and he would pray to the sea for a daughter to call his own.