The Aren

hello again,
sorry i havent posted in a while. i havent been in the mood for posting. But now i have something to write about. this is just a story i wrote when i was sick and really bored. I actually thought of it while i was taking a shower, but you dont really need to know about that.Anyway, i just wanted to share it on here. Its called the Aren. and here it is:

The Aren
One day when the weather was bright and cheerful, twig went, as any other day, making his way to the small town in which he lived by. Though the village was more than a league away from his farm, and he was only a small boy of twelve, the distance was a small feat, for he had walked it many times. As he walked along the beaten path, he made a quick decision to walk through the forest, as a short cut, for he still had many chores waiting at home. So, through the woods he went and even though he was very determined to have time to play before nightfall, he started to regret his choice.
AS an hour goes by of walking through the thick woods, he becomes more and more wary of his surroundings. The deeper he gets into the forest, the more it grows dark and damp. A gloomy gale blows through and the ancient trees sway back and forth, moaning with sorrow. A chill goes down his back and a loud shriek fills the silence. He jumped at every rustle in the bushes or movement in the trees. Twig soon lost every sense of direction, and decided to retrace his steps, even though it would cost him precious time, and his mother would be sore at him.
Turning around, something caught his eye. A glimmer of silver reflected against the dim sunlight in the woods. Intrigued, twig bent down and nudged away brush to investigate further. What he found left him awestruck. It was a flower, but not just any flower. Its petals were every shade deep blue to violet, and the rims of the petals was lined with silver. It dazzled in the sunlight and rippled with color as if it were alive. Twig new right away this was no ordinary flower. As he leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at it, it began to glow and gave off warmth, as if by a fire. It was simply enchanting.
All at once the memory came back to twig. He had heard of this flower before, not believing it was true, by a traveling storyteller that had come across the village. It was called the “aren”. It was said to fill you with joy when you touch it, and was the rarest flower in the world. There were only a few of them left and their numbers still are dwindling. They soon would be extinct, for it can only reproduce when it dies and even then it must die a natural death.
Twig fell in love with it as soon as he saw it, and knew he must have it as his own. “If not for me,” twig muttered, “than for my bitter mother”. He knew in his head that he should not pick it, for it would never be able to reproduce, but his heart said otherwise, so as he let greed and envy take over him, he pushed those thoughts away. When twig touched the aren, pure happiness radiated from him, but as he began to uproot it form the soil, the joy shrank back and turn in to fear and anger. As if the aren has a mind of its own, twig could feel the frustration of the flower, and it started to turn shades of red. The part of the story that twig did not know of the aren, was that if you tried to take it or disturbed it in any way; it would turn against you, in ways unimaginable. So as twig pulled and tugged on the flower, it in return started feeding off his joy and happy memories, so all that was left was sorrow.
Twig finally managed to pull out the mighty aren, but as he did so he wept uncontrollably. He knew he had done a horrible thing and now had paid the price if it. He stood up sobbing and moaning and, for what seemed like hours, tried to find his way home. Twig finally stumbled across a road and walked until he found his home.
Mean while, twigs mother paced anxiously on her porch, waiting for twig to come home. It was nearly sun set, and he had never taken this long before. Relief flooded trough her as she saw him turn the corner of the road. She ran to him and kissed him on his cheeks. Salty bitterness touched her lips and she realized that he was crying. Twig dug his face into her shoulder and quaked uncontrollably. “What could have done this to my darling boy?” she thought.
From that day forward, twig was filled with sorrow and remorse. He could not even remember what happiness and laughter felt like, because the aren had taken those memories away. During the day he was bitter at everything and only talked when questioned, then at night the anger would turn to sadness and he would cry himself to sleep. And so it went on, until the day he died. It was such a large price to pay for such a small act.


The end



P.s. i made some minor changes to it so if you have already read it at school, read it again. Im also very proud of myself because i typed it up all by myself! YAY ME!!!

WAVERLY SMITHERS