Tale #89: The Poor Woman

There was a woman who lived in the woods. She had no money, and could find little work, and those that paid her paid her very little.

One day an old lady knocked at her door and begged for some food to help her through the cold winter’s night, for she was far from home and farther still from reaching her way. The woman who lived in the woods said, “Alas, I haven’t enough even for one, let alone two, but you may have what little there is, although whether it will do you any good or not I cannot say. And you may sit by my fire and warm your bones, although the wood is already burning low, and the night has barely yet begun.”

The old lady came in and together they sat by the fire, which seemed to burn brighter than ever, and ate the last of the bread, which seemed to fill the bellies of them both. After an hour the old lady got up and said that she must again be on her way. “In repayment for your kindness I will leave you a gift,” the old lady said. “So you may earn that which your kind spirit deserves, each time you receive payment for your work you shall become twice as beautiful as before, and subsequently earn twice as much, the next time circumstances allow.”

With that the old lady made her way to the heart of the woods, where she disappeared from this world and went on her way to the next.

At first the woman noticed very little change. She still struggled to find work, and for many weeks she starved away, surviving on scraps scavenged from the forest, and if anything when she looked at herself in the waters of the brook she thought that rather than becoming any fairer her famishment had made her ever fouler.

In the early days of spring, however, after the snows had melted and the flowers of the forest had begun again to bloom, a woodsman from the nearest town knocked at the door of her house and she invited him in and provided him with what he desired. As he left she asked him for a shilling, but he looked her up and down sadly and paid only a penny.

She wept that night, but the next day, when she caught sight of her reflection she was surprised by the vitality of her appearance. When the woodsman knocked again, he gladly paid the price she asked, and the day after he gave her double. “A tip,” he said, “for one so pretty.” And he even asked her to walk back with him to town, for rather than being ashamed by his patronage he now was overcome with pride.

After she saw him to his house she tarried awhile in town, and by the end of her stay her beauty was greater than any the town had ever known, and her purse fuller than she had ever dared dream.

Soon only the local Lord could afford to pay her. He took her into his house, and by the end of the week the house was hers and the Lord a beggar, much to the satisfaction of his staff, and the spiteful delight of his wife. The woman, who no longer lived in the woods, was generous with her money, and kind to all in her care, for she knew the horrors of poverty, and the humiliations of servitude.

Eventually the King came calling, for by now stories of her otherworldly glamour had spread far and wide. As his treasuries emptied over the subsequent weeks, and her beauty multiplied, the King began to despair, for soon he would no longer be able to afford her services, and he could not bear to return to the drabness of his court. “How could I live, knowing this beauty was out there, beyond my reach?” he sighed.

He ordered his treasurer to mint him a million pound coin, and then two more. By now the currency of the land and the entire economy of the country was on the verge of collapse. No matter how much of the money lavished on her by the King she spent trying to alleviate the suffering she saw around her, the country continued to collapse into despair and horror. And all the while the King tried ever more desperately to finance the further satiation of his lust.

For him the end came quickly. The people rose up and threw him into the sea without ceremony or regret.

In the ensuing days, they crowned the woman their Queen. She used her money and her wisdom to rebuild the country into something far greater than it had ever been before, and she ruled divinely for the rest of her days, delighting in way her country now prospered. She spent the rest of her life enjoying the many friendships she formed with the subjects of her land, and occasionally bankrupting other countries when politics and desire demanded.

____________

Notes:

1. Written on February 9th, 2015

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!


Tale #88: To Ponder Infinity

There lived an expansionist king, whose policies of growth ensured his kingdom doubled in reach every single year of his reign.

In the 64th year of his rule, having seen the extent of his domain grow from the single planet of his birth to the 18,446,744,073,709,551,616 planets of its current jurisdiction, he called upon his most trusted advisor, and asked her how many more years would it take until he commanded power over the whole infinite expanse of the limitless universe in which they lived. For he wished one day to retire, and he wondered how many more years he needed to remain upon the throne before his dream of complete dominion over all was achieved.

“Infinity cannot be reached by multiplication, no matter how vast in scope the numbers are,” she advised. “So you could reign forever, less a day, and still not achieve your dream of an infinite kingdom.”

The King bade his advisor farewell, for he wished for solitude in which to ponder her words. He sat on his throne and spent the night contemplating the nature of the infinite. The King soon went mad, and died.

__________

Notes:

1. Written on 1st April, 2019

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!


Tale #87: To Follow A Child

A father was eating lunch one day in the garden of his house, when his daughter skipped past and made her way off towards the fields and the woods beyond. Curious as to where his child went when she played on her own, he decided to follow her on her way. He hurried from his chair as she exited the garden, and pursued her into the wilderness.

It was dusk before the father returned. He went to bed without saying a word, and soon after he went mad and died.

____________

Notes:

1. Written on April 1st, 2019
2. Following the conventions of To Follow A Cat
3. And subsequent similar formulations

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!


Tale #86: (blue plaque on ruined wall)

On this spot, in 1833, a woman was found with two heads, two hearts, and two names. Each head spoke a different language. Each heart beat at a different rate. Yet both names were the same.

__________

Notes:

1. Written on September 3rd, 2018

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!


Tale #85: Married Hearts

After the ceremony, as is traditional, the bride and groom are seated together at the banquet table at the head of the hall. As their friends and family watch on, the couple each take a knife from the table, and still smiling their newly-wed smiles, cut out their own hearts and let them drop onto the silver plates on the tabletop before them.

While they wipe the blood from their hands on silk napkins, the plates are passed around the gathered families, who inspect each one for signs of defects, anomalies, lies, deceptions.

At today’s event, the groom’s heart is a slender thing, stunted and withered through years of both neglect and cossetting. Never had it needed to fight or fend for itself, never had it needed to buttress itself against failure or calamity.

The bride’s family nod their heads in acceptance, the groom’s smile thinly with imperceptible pride.

When it is passed back to the bride, she slices it into two and pops each morsel into her mouth whole and swallows them without chewing.

The bride’s heart, however, sits heavily on its plate, like a beached and blood-red whale. As the plate is passed around the room, the groom’s family make numerous comments admiring the heft of the heart, the density of the muscle, the brightness of the blood, the volume of its chambers, and the depths they conceal.

Eventually the groom receives the heart, impatient and eager, taking the plate with both hands and placing it down reverently before hime. He slices a sliver away and takes a delicate bite so as to savour the taste.

The heart on the plate looks unchanged.

The groom finishes the first morsel of his bride’s heart, takes another slice, and chews this one as deliberately as the first. The next cut is bigger, and eaten more quickly. And the next, and the next.

Still the heart looks unchanged.

Or perhaps it looks bigger now, made somehow stronger and more defiant with every cut and laceration and frenzied stab. A huge solid lump of flesh that could sustain a man for the rest of his life.

Once the guests have gone, the groom’s decorum slips away entirely. He grasps his wife’s heart in his hands and tears great chunks of flesh from it with his teeth. Blood up to his elbows, his shirt as stained as a butcher’s coat.

He keeps on eating, his face as red as fury, his teeth as black as death.

The bride picks up a napkin from the table and carefully, caringly, wipes droplets of herself from his chin. She wonders when he will stop, when he’ll finally have had his fill.

She wonders, too, whether to take her heart out of his hands. Take it back and put it back and keep it for herself.

__________

Notes:

1. Written between August and November 2016

__________

Support An Accumulation Of Things

If you like the things you've read here please consider subscribing to my patreon or my ko-fi.

Patreon subscribers get not just early access to content and also the occasional gift, but also my eternal gratitude. Which I'm not sure is very useful, but is certainly very real.

(Ko-fi contributors probably only get the gratitude I'm afraid, but please get in touch if you want more).

Thank you!