When my son was little, I used to tell him stories that revolved around a character I made up called Myron the Knight. I have the original story written down and perhaps, in the future, may do something with it.
Nevertheless, for this week’s Fiction Friday, I left behind my usual tragic romantic or happy romantic writing and used this character of Myron in a different type of piece. The challenge from Brian Kiteley’s book was to do the following: “…for the first part, tinge the world in dark hues and show us a narrative style that reflects frustration, sadness, and alienation.” Then later, we were to switch and “use a hinge sentence to change the tone and color of this short piece.”
What resulted is this old-fashioned, fairy tale-ish story. I have to give a shout out to my friend, fellow writer, and blogger, Charlotte English. She is English, and I want her to know that I can’t help but want to read this story out loud to my children in a British accent (though my British accent could use some serious work). This piece is rated-G, suitable for both children and adults who relish a fairy tale.
The Village of Happinyss
After the Dragonmaster cast his spell on the Village of Happinyss, all was quiet. The sun was replaced by a smattering of grey and black clouds that zigzagged through the northern sky. The grass curled and darkened. Trees shriveled up and flowers pouted. The Dragonmaster had violently taken away the dragon, undoubtedly so they could again inflict fear upon the villagers. The dragon was removed in a caged, wrought iron dolly. The Dragonmaster was walking several captured men back with him up the hill to be both his servants and caretakers to the wicked dragon.
When the villagers had first heard the dragon’s awful roar, the Governor told the villagers to flee.
“Flee to your homes! Lock your doors! Be forewarned!”
The Princess had opened the castle doors to all who begged to come inside, for the castle walls were sturdy and secure enough to protect the public from the evil that lurked among them. Inside the dimly lit and damp castle, people gathered together, telling stories of the dragon’s fiery breath and of the Dragonmaster’s frightening demeanor.
“He is evil!” they chanted.
“Will we ever have hope?”
“Will we ever be the same?”
“Will he ever leave Happinyss?”
The Dragonmaster’s home was at the top of the hill adjacent to the Princess’s castle. She ruled the village, with the Governor by her side. The two peered out of the upstairs window in dismay; the town was blanketed in dread and trepidation. The townspeople questioned when it would be safe to return to their daily functions, to live again in the glory of Happinyss, no longer afraid of the Dragonmaster and his malicious dragon.
The Princess turned to the Governor and spoke softly, in a whisper barely audible, so no one else could hear. “I just know if Myron had been here, he would have slayed the dragon, rid our town of the Dragonmaster, and life would again be as it should,” she said.
“Alas,” the Governor said in dismay, “we can only hope.”
Just then from over the hill came the sounds of horses’ hooves, trotting hard against the dry and dark earth. The Princess scurried across the room to the other window where she had a much better vantage point.
“Gracious God,” she said. “Is it Myron? And his knights?”
“A miracle,” the Governor said. “A miracle.”
The others heard it too, and the Princess rushed down the spiraling staircase and ordered her guards to open the massive door. She would go to him and tell him of Happinyss’s woes; Myron would understand. For Myron had stood guard at the castle from time to time, though the Princess knew his intentions. And she returned the sentiments wholeheartedly, for Myron was the greatest knight in all the land. He came from a long line of knights with power—magical powers—that serve the good of others. There was no doubt she loved him ardently.
When she reached him, out of breath from running, her long, brown hair knotted and messy, he smiled at her from upon his horse. She saw the freed men.
“Did you not think I knew of the trouble brewing in Happinyss?” he asked her.
“I wasn’t sure if you could feel the terror as it struck.”
“How could you doubt me, your Highness?”
“I promise I shall never do it again.”
As the Princess spoke, a magnificent thing began to take place in the village. People came outside; they ventured out to see what was occurring in front of the castle. They marveled at the sky. No longer was it laden in grey and black. It glistened. It shined. Rainbows appeared as a backdrop to the castle. The sun cast rays and warmed the villagers from the cold. Indeed, the flowers perked up with pride. And yes, the verdant grass gleamed with the freshness of the morning dew.
“You will not hear from that Dragonmaster or his dragon again. It’s God he must answer to now,” Myron said.
The Princess held her hands high to command silence so she could speak. The villagers obeyed in awe, saw Myron, his glory.
“People of Happinyss. Let us rejoice and be thankful for our brave knight!”
The crowd exploded with applause. Myron the Knight bowed to his adoring and thankful crowd. The Princess beamed. The celebration began then and lasted a week, and the Village of Happinyss was forever in a state of bliss.
Written by Stephanie Verni, copyright 2011