The Princess Who Forgot She Was Beautiful (The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Book 1) by William David Ellis

Author:William David Ellis [Ellis, William David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Altar Stone
Published: 2019-03-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Story night at the library

The old man couldn’t nap that afternoon. The speaker never slept, and now that he had begun talking again, wasn’t inclined to quit. The old man did nod off a few times, but his daughter called to check on him right as he had fallen asleep. They talked long enough for him to assure her that he was fine, and then he drifted off again. Finally, the rumbling in his belly reminded him that he probably ought to eat something lest he embarrass himself and his assorted crew of candy crunchers. He ate a can of chicken noodle soup filled with so many crackers it was dusty, took a quick shower, decided not to shave, and got dressed. As he pushed the latest trash out of his truck and was about to drive away, he stopped, walked into his garage, popped open an old army locker, and removed a long bundle. “I sure hope I don’t need this,” he heard himself say. Then another voice joined in, “But if you do, you’ll have it. Besides, the closer I am to it, the more I can help you.” Throwing the bundle into the truck, the old man got in and drove to the library.

The host of children had a hard time settling that night. They squirmed, and chatted, and fussed, and then finally gathered close to their story teller. The old man was also restless. In spite of all that had transpired, all he had rediscovered and remembered, and even with the threat of death and dismemberment hanging over his head, he was excited.

A few years ago, he had started to believe that he must have made up the story rather than lived it. He was tempted to see a counselor but knew he would be placed on drugs that would steal his memories. It might mean peace, and maybe he wouldn’t be plagued with nightmares from a time out of this time so far away, but nightmares were a small price to pay to remember the good things. So, he decided to keep his memories, fight his doubts, and just keep living. Now, in a remarkable way, by telling the story, he was forced to relive the memories. It amazed him, when he first started telling the story how easily it had slipped from his lips, how vivid the memories were. The realism crept into the story, even the redacted version he told the babes that gathered at his feet. He enjoyed how their faces reflected their captured imaginations and was sad that tonight would be the end of the story, or at least the part he could tell.

So once again the old man settled in, his bones creaking as they positioned themselves in the old rocker. A small hand touched his arm and the six-year-old queen of story time laid her head against his shoulder. He was glad she was there but also fought back sadness. This is not the life they should be living.

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