Fudge Ripple, Guava and Trail Mix with Whipped Cream and a Cherry
Story: Timeless { backstory | index }
Title: Prince of the Tree Towns
Rating: G
Challenge: Fudge Ripple #24: euphoria, Guava #6: all the live-long day, Trail Mix #22: in the sun
Toppings/Extras: whipped cream, cherry
Wordcount: 356
Summary: Edward Ashdown’s childhood disappeared all too soon, as they always do.
Notes: Inspired by a wonderful Dylan Thomas poem. Also: oh my goodness, I wrote something short.
It was running, playing, whirling, singing: dirty shoes and everything green as blazing flame. He was prince of the tree towns, the minions his leaves rippling in windsong, falling torrential. Honoured among twigs, lord of his palace and eye of the world. Sat so high it made his mind spin. Sister in her crib, little eyes closed, pale as milk, soft as silk-beautiful baby girl.
It was journeying, adventuring, discovering: torn jackets and hair loose, a scratch on his cheek that made his mother shriek. Handfuls of mud and diamond sky and whinnying stables, taming the ferocious lion-cats that dozed in the languid amber sun, kicking and jumping and shaking the bars harder, harder. Sister in her chair, cuddling dolly, sucking her thumb. Hair in gleaming plaits like the sweetest of sweets.
It was day and night and spring and fall, prince of the tree towns sat in the branch-throne, heard only by the gleaming apples: so ripe, abundant, stretching at the skin, harder than iron, harder, harder! King of the apple carts he was. Daisies bobbing never-ending, kites kissing azure skies, milk teeth gapping more and more (more, more!). Catching Rosalind’s flute-playing on his tongue-tastes like icing sugar and tin, pouring from the window of her room, booming, wombing, zig-zag-zigging.
It was riding, tumbling, rolling, soaring: wind so strong it could lift his head off his shoulders, sun so bright it melts the world to white and liquid gold. War-games like Father, wherever he may be, muskets and trumpets and horses and swords. Rosalind wants to play, through the window her eyes are like riverwater, glittering and green. Outside! The pebbles are singing, the trees are praising...
It was waking. Overnight, it happened: the emerald brightness of the whole world dimmed forever, youth lost, young Teddy led by the hand where other lambs went-gone, gone, gone. Vivid taste gone; brilliant sky as bright as the moon is long; flyaway rainbows so soft on his cheeks. He was every child and then he wasn’t. Patent leather suitcases, wills and money and letters, black and feathers and smoke, boarding school... born suddenly into cold.