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    Goldfest V 2007- The Golden Fables (20 posts)
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    my fable entry
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    Author: * Eunice Orestes - 3 Posts on this thread out of 40 Posts sitewide.
    Date: Oct 15, 2007 - 08:51

    One bright and hot summer’s day, two children played in a meadow full of flowers and dancing butterflies. They were a twin brother and sister, Chrysanthos and Chrysanthe, and they loved each other so much that no other playmate could ever take the place of either. While Chrysanthe chased the butterflies and laughed and skipped with them in the summer sunshine, Chrysanthos wandered to the river. The cool water glittered and danced, just as if it were the wings of a magical butterfly. It fascinated Chrysanthos and reminded him of his father’s small hoard of gold coins. He had watched as his father picked them up and let them slip through his fingers. They glittered in the light of the evening lamps as they were counted and recounted over and over again. Chrysanthos wanted some golden coins of his own, to play with and to be just like his father.

    As he knelt on the bank of the river, watching the light, Chrysanthe danced through the grass towards him. She could not stop; it was if the butterflies had given her wings of her own. Her golden hair spun out around her and the water reflected it back. Chrysanthos saw the gold sparkling in the water. There were golden coins in the water, he could see them. The more that Chrysanthe danced, the more the gold twinkled in the water. Chrysanthos reached in but he could not catch them. The more he tried, the more he failed.

    He looked up at Chrysanthe, who laughed as a butterfly landed on her outstretched fingers. But instead of his dear little sister, all he could see was the gold of her hair that spun out of reach. He reached out and grabbed at one of her dancing feet and pulled. With a piercing shriek, Chrysanthe fell backwards, down into the river. The butterflies fled, the clouds darkened and the air was cold. Chrysanthos reached down into the water, as far as his arms could go, and he grasped a strand of Chrysanthe’s golden hair. But it slipped through his fingers, gittering in the light of the dying sunshine, as she sank further and deeper into Elysion.

    The moral of the story: all that glitters is not gold.


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