This story is about laughter.
Oh, and a few other things . . .
There were once three brothers. Two great, hulking brutes and one
small, but kind.
One day the eldest went into the forest to chop firewood. At lunchtime,
while eating, he was suddenly joined by a little old man, who begged a morsel.
He refused, claiming he had to keep his strength up. There wouldn’t be
enough for him. Bla-bla-bla. The old man disappeared and moments later, the brother
injured himself.
Yep. He chopped an old tree right down on his own arm, breaking it
cleanly. Okay, maybe a bit of Karma at work here? What are your thoughts?
The second brother, (also great and also quite hulking) went out the
next day in the elder’s place. I mean that wood wasn’t going to chop itself, right?
Lunchtime saw the same little old man appear to beg a morsel. With equal
or lessor results. (I’m starting to wonder if we should question someone’s
parenting skills.)
Again the elderly man disappeared and again, the chopper became the
choppee. Wherein he chopped; the tree landed on him, breaking his leg, and he
went, “Eeeee!”
That sounded better in my head . . . The young man hobbled home, spilling
tales of woe and everyone was suddenly looking to the smallest for rescue.
Being the good boy he was, he duly shouldered his brothers’ axe and
headed out to where the trees lived. Lunch/Elderly Gent/request for food. Same
scenario. Different outcome.
The boy happily shared his meager (with two hulking brothers, you can’t
expect there to be much…) meal. Pleased, the old man indicated a certain tree,
then disappeared.
Obediently, the boy put the axe to the roots of said tree with vigor.
The tree toppled, disclosing a shining, golden goose. Admit it. You weren’t
expecting that.
The boy picked up the goose, heading immediately to the city. Hey! If I
was poor and gold fell into my lap (figuratively) I’d be heading there, too.
As he passed the local inn, the innkeeper’s eldest daughter, intrigued
by the solid gold feathers with which
said goose was covered, reached out to pluck just one.
Her fingers instantly stuck. Fast. We’re talking ‘early days of Crazy
Glue’ fast here. Like, to get those fingers unstuck would mean, at the very least,
skin loss.
Her next younger sister, seeing her plight, tried to unstick her by the
patented grab-hold-and-pull method. I probably don’t have to tell you it didn’t
work.
Nope. Younger sister’s hands were stuck also. And it didn’t stop there.
Youngest sister, thinking it some sort of silly game, grabbed her sibling’s
apron strings. Oh, woe.
Now all three sisters were stuck fast to the goose. And each other.
Oblivious (and pretty supremely task-focused) the young man strode on.
Ridiculous? You know it.
The young man and his goose and his little parade duly passed in front
of the church. In plain view of the vicar—sitting, enjoying his afternoon tea.
Now, this particular vicar was quite attentive to his flock. Seeing what
could quite easily be mistaken for tom-foolery (Google it), he decided to . . .
step in.
He grabbed the youngest daughter’s free hand and was instantly stuck fast
to it. Don’t you hate when that happens? The young man continued. With the
girls. And the vicar.
Before long, the vicar’s drinking buddies (yes, he had drinking
buddies) happened to notice the unusual procession. Red-faced, the vicar frantically
beckoned them. “Get me out of here!”
Doing what any good buddies would, they each grabbed a shoulder of
their stalwart friend. And were instantly part of the insanity. Now there were
girls/vicar/buddies. Oh, my.
You have to know this kept happening. One buddy’s wife. Her friend and
friend’s daughter. Two young hikers. Three minstrels. At least one mule. And the
milkman.
When the entourage reached the city, it numbered nearly as many people as the city. If our young man noticed
them at all, he certainly didn’t let them distract him.
Meanwhile . . . don’t you just love the sound of that? Meanwhile. So mysterious. Meanwhile, in
the city, there was a king. And a king’s only daughter.
She lacked . . . laughter. I know what you’re thinking. A golden goose and a laughter lacker in the same story?
Don’t blame me! I’m just the teller.
The king had promised that whoever could make his daughter laugh would earn
her hand in marriage. (I know why the laughter was lacking.) Ahem . . .
Now, as our merry band passed the palace, this laughter-lacking
daughter happened to be out on her balcony gazing in a luster-lacking, laughless way at the gleaming city.
She spotted our friends almost immediately. I mean, when fifty ‘stuck-to-each-other’
people trail gracelessly past your window, it’s bound to attract attention. Am
I right?
The girl stared, then clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted. Yes,
princesses snort. The snort was followed almost immediately by peals and peals of
princess-ly laughter.
Her father, seated in the next room doing . . . ‘king-ly’ stuff, leaped
to his feet and strode with purpose to his daughter out on the balcony.
At first, he just had eyes for his only offspring as she guffawed,
chuckled, chortled, howled and roared with long-suppressed laughter. Then he,
too spotted the ‘train’.
Well, what would you have done? The king joined right in. Now I have it
on good authority that laughter heals. And shared laughter can cure almost
anything.
Certainly, it did here. From that moment—and following years of moments—the
princess was smiling and laugh-y. Even when the king insisted she marry the
young man.
Of course, she fell in love with the kind, rather quirky young man.
Even though their courting included—out of necessity—numerous citizens, animals
and assorted tradespeople and musicians.
Once the ring was on her finger, the spell (Yes, it was a spell) was
broken. Everyone immediately started for their almost-forgotten homes and/or
places of residence.
Good thing, too, because, if three’s company, what on earth would 50
be? Besides awkward, I mean. Everyone lived with much love—and laughter—ever after. The End.
Today’s post is a writing challenge! Each month one of the participating bloggers picks a number between 12 and 50. All bloggers taking part that month are then challenged to write using that exact number of words in their post either once or multiple times.
This month’s word count number is: 28
It was chosen by: Karen!
At the end of this post, you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Keep the party going!
Baking In A Tornado
Messymimi’s Meanderings
