Post by GaratJax on Jun 3, 2005 15:13:09 GMT -5
This is my first real attempt at a fictional piece for children. This is only a rough draft and somewhat short but any constructive criticism would be gratefully recieved.
A Gnome Came Home
The park glistened with morning dew, spring flowers bowing down under the heavy weight, bowing down before the mighty oak tree standing in the very centre of a large circle of grass. The oaks branches spread, crown like, jutting towards the sky and shading the ground below causing shadows to flitter in the early morning sun. Pieces of litter were strewn across the ground, fragments of newspaper and sweet wrappers mingling with crushed beer cans creating a tapestry of colour.
A lone crow swooped down to feed on rotting food left by the previous days picnicers, its long beak gulping down as much food as he could, almost gagging on a particularly large piece, its black feathers settling in place as it prepared to gorge itself before his brethren appeared to squabble of the pickings.
The sounds of life were slowly growing in the park, the faint hum of cars and motorbikes, the distant hum of the milk float as it started its morning run. Inside the park more and more birds awoke their voices adding to the orchestra of sounds, here and there a barking dog adding an interesting counterpoint, like a soloist exploring a piece for the first time.
Suddenly a blur of red flashed by, heading towards the sanctuary of heavy undergrowth, its long, bushy tail behind it, its snout pushing through the heavy branches, barely slowing its descent into the thick darkness. The redness of its coat disappeared becoming darker before fading completely.
Amongst the slowly increasing hustle and bustle of the park, a gnome came home.
The gnome’s name was Fibblius Feddiruca or Fib to those who had encountered him before. Short he was, even by a gnomes standards, barely 6” in height and without the customary beard of his more distinguished family. His long green coat, reaching almost to his knees, was ragged with brown patches sewn here and there, the brown jerkin rough and dirty and his trousers were more like shorts, cut of on one leg at the knee, and the other rolled up so they were of roughly equal length.
Perhaps the most unusual thing however was the huge (by a gnome’s standards) backpack, from which was hanging pots and pans, a whistle, a small cage and an equally small lantern. The pack bulged with hidden secrets, with a bright blue piece of cloth hanging loose from the side.
His face was red from exertion, his feet barely lifting from the ground, his back bowed almost to the ground with the tremendous weight of his burden but his eyes were resolutely facing the tree, the huge oak at the centre of the park. His feet kicked dust up from his path, tiny dewdrops flinging away, landing scattered all over the ground.
A Gnome Came Home
The park glistened with morning dew, spring flowers bowing down under the heavy weight, bowing down before the mighty oak tree standing in the very centre of a large circle of grass. The oaks branches spread, crown like, jutting towards the sky and shading the ground below causing shadows to flitter in the early morning sun. Pieces of litter were strewn across the ground, fragments of newspaper and sweet wrappers mingling with crushed beer cans creating a tapestry of colour.
A lone crow swooped down to feed on rotting food left by the previous days picnicers, its long beak gulping down as much food as he could, almost gagging on a particularly large piece, its black feathers settling in place as it prepared to gorge itself before his brethren appeared to squabble of the pickings.
The sounds of life were slowly growing in the park, the faint hum of cars and motorbikes, the distant hum of the milk float as it started its morning run. Inside the park more and more birds awoke their voices adding to the orchestra of sounds, here and there a barking dog adding an interesting counterpoint, like a soloist exploring a piece for the first time.
Suddenly a blur of red flashed by, heading towards the sanctuary of heavy undergrowth, its long, bushy tail behind it, its snout pushing through the heavy branches, barely slowing its descent into the thick darkness. The redness of its coat disappeared becoming darker before fading completely.
Amongst the slowly increasing hustle and bustle of the park, a gnome came home.
The gnome’s name was Fibblius Feddiruca or Fib to those who had encountered him before. Short he was, even by a gnomes standards, barely 6” in height and without the customary beard of his more distinguished family. His long green coat, reaching almost to his knees, was ragged with brown patches sewn here and there, the brown jerkin rough and dirty and his trousers were more like shorts, cut of on one leg at the knee, and the other rolled up so they were of roughly equal length.
Perhaps the most unusual thing however was the huge (by a gnome’s standards) backpack, from which was hanging pots and pans, a whistle, a small cage and an equally small lantern. The pack bulged with hidden secrets, with a bright blue piece of cloth hanging loose from the side.
His face was red from exertion, his feet barely lifting from the ground, his back bowed almost to the ground with the tremendous weight of his burden but his eyes were resolutely facing the tree, the huge oak at the centre of the park. His feet kicked dust up from his path, tiny dewdrops flinging away, landing scattered all over the ground.