Scribbled Thoughts

(Beanstalk tale is back today)

Crazy Mary wasn’t as old

as everyone thought.

Cruelty had aged her,

neglect wrinkling her skin,

nalmourishment thinning her hair

and avoidance effecting her mind.

People amused themselves

by daring each other

to approach her,

talk to her,

hurt her.

She always asked for the same thing,

an animal,

a useful one,

in exchange for some

very special beans.

Beans, she told them,

that could lead

to another world.

His quest became difficult here,

searching for magic beans,

finding the right kind of magic beans

(although he enjoyed the new experiences,

the high of such indulgence).

What little money he had disappeared

for his ‘research’, confusing his goal

for a time.

Withdrawal made him recall Felicia,

his mission, his future glory.

He began asking his new contacts

about different, faulty products,

never daring to mention giants

and beanstalks.

They mentioned an old woman,

half-starved, half-mad,

who offered magic beans

for farm animals.

No one was fool enough to trade.

Jack laughed with them

but left soon after,

eager to meet his destiny.

(Not much today, not much free time)

He waited and listened,

anticipation granting him patience

while hearing boastful recounts

of the beanstalk trade.

The nuggets of gold once envied

were cast aside, banned as currency

due to superstition.

Stories of how the beanstalk

first formed were whispered,

praying no such occurance

would ever happen again.

‘I saw it! Beans fell from the sky

and the next morning it was there,

fully grown. Magic beans.’

(Moving to Jack’s point of view now)

Jack should have felt despondent,

crushed, overwhelmed,

but he didn’t.

He felt alive, excited

full of purpose and energy

for the first time in his dull, short life.

He had been ploughing in a barren field

when they hacked the beanstalk down,

but he wouldn’t let it stop him.

More giants remained up there,

with his dearest Felicia

and riches of gold.

The greedy had profited from the trades,

barring those with nothing

and sneering at their misfortune.

He’d often been hired to help

load the goods onto the pulley,

using the opportunity to

sneak his letters up above.

No one paid attention to him,

but they would.

He would win love and riches

and everyone would admire his courage,

his charisma,

the very essence of Jack.

Felicia didn’t know him well,

the giant that fell through the clouds,

but she’d witnessed his indulgence

and laziness at maintaining balance.

He carried too many trinkets

and failed to monitor his weight.

She didn’t see him slip from the sky

but she heard the impact

and witnessed the hushed anticipation,

the bated breath

of those left above.

The basket trade stopped,

only one final letter came up.

Dear Felicia,

Giants? The sky people are giants? But how? And why are you up there with them? Did they kidnap you? Is that why you never see your father?

I understand now. I promise I’ll save you.

Love Jack.

She didn’t have the heart to reply.

And then the ground dwellers

cut the beanstalk down.