Scribbled Thoughts

Jack’s dreams were haunted

with Felicia, crushed to goo,

torn apart,

eaten whole.

He woke with a cry,

the image of her being

wrapped in plant stalks,

crushing her,

still imprinted on his eyes.

The beanstalk loomed beside him,

still growing,

creeping into the sky

to block out the sun.

All sleep deserted him

as he pulled the giant’s cloth

from his bag,

ripping and wrapping

it around his limbs,

already feeling a floating sensation.

He hooked his axe

across his bag straps

and used both hands to grip

the beanstalk,

letting its still growing length

lift him into the sky.

Jack travelled deeper into the forest,

his new weapon tested on any inhabitants

wishing to challenge him.

Memories of Crazy Mary’s story

haunted him and he scanned

for clues of its existence,

perhaps a giant’s bones lay

forgotten in this place.

Perhaps it was all a lie.

He travelled two days

then set to form a clearing,

any further would have been pointless,

he needed to be within

a manageable distance

of the old beanstalk,

where Felicia had sent her letters.

As the sun set he

dug a hole with his hands,

dropping the precious beans in

and covering them again

with all the gentleness

of a father tucking his child in bed.

Then he waited,

dozing fitfully,

for the magic to happen.

Jack gave up on caution

and ran,

speeding through the trading post

with his prize clutched to his chest.

No one chased him,

too concerned with their own wares

to help rewrite the injustice.

Still, he didn’t stop until he was

a mile deep into the forest,

resting upright against a large tree

and examining his new weapon.

It was an axe, sharp and well-kept,

the handle long enough to

grasp in both hands.

Finally, he was ready.

She’d noticed the young man watching,

his interest greater than

he wanted her to believe.

He held a desperate glint in his eyes,

a purpose to fulfill

that blinded him to other suffering.

It reminded her of her husband.

Her weary heart broke a little

as she purposely turned away

from her wares,

rummaging in bags behind

for longer than was needed

and pretending to not hear

the telltale chink of a

weapon being snatched away.

Perhaps it would serve him better

than it had her beloved.

Her husband had been

a wealthy collector,

a kind man but

far from sensible.

Still, she loved him

and enjoyed watching

his face light up

with excitement when he found

another piece.

But soon his family wealth

had dwindled away

and the fancy weapons

caused resentment.

As she struggled to feed their son

her husband still clung to his collection,

boasting to others about its unique qualities.

He left one morning

with his most prized pieces

for an exhibition.

The weapons were never found

but her husband turned up

face-down in the river.

She ignored grief and packed up

the remaining items,

hoping to sell them for food,

to keep her house,

to struggle on with life.

Jack’s village was too poor

too uncultured

to have a blacksmith

or armoury.

He would not be returning there.

Instead he headed for

the forest in Crazy Mary’s story,

knowing there was a trading post

at its border

that attracted buyers

and sellers alike.

Wares were spread out

on cloth,

hasty displays enticing

the desperate

and reckless.

Food, weapons, pottery,

even a few livestock

and men promoting

their services.

Jack browsed, made a few enquiries

to blend in

but picked his target carefully

before moving away to watch

and wait.

Jack stored the cloth

in the bottom of his rucksack,

feeling it lift the straps

from his shoulders,

cutting into his armpits

in a bid for freedom.

He was useless with a needle

so decided he would

cut it into strips

and tie them around

his waist, legs and arms

when the time came.

He left the dead giant,

his next move

forming in his mind

and making him sigh with guilt.

He needed to steal.

No one had touched the giant’s body,

too scared to approach,

too weary of angering the enemy further.

It was left to rot

and feed the wildlife,

attracting carnivorous dangers

away from people’s livestock.

Jack travelled to where it had fallen

a few miles from their village,

but waited until dawn to approach,

not wanting to tempt any alphas

with a fresh challenge.

The body did not float

but the loose areas of his

-Jack could see it had been male-

clothes drifted lazily off the ground.

He grinned, choosing part of

the giant’s green shirt

and beginning to cut

a huge chunk away.