Our class had the privilege of working on a project called the Shadow Puppet Project. We each wrote a story about a page or two long about anything we wanted. Then, we chose excerpts from our projects and submitted them to be in the running for the shadow puppet show. My excerpt was one of the ones used in the performance. From my story, shadows were created and adapted to play out the words in front of the readers eyes. While writing I ran through a couple ideas about what the story should be. I wanted a new idea, and an enjoyable story. It was written to be read aloud, so although the sentences are short, the meaning is quickly understandable and easy to read. Below is my entire story, while the excerpt is in italics.
The Little Village
The little, quiet village was hidden behind acres and acres of oak trees. It was a peaceful place, yet different than any other village. A clear stream ran through the forest. Secluded in the forest, only those who knew where it was located could find it. It ran right through the middle of the village. The huts sat around it. It made it the distinct center of the community. On the outside, the people who lived there looked just as you would expect the people of a civilization living on their own in the forest would look like, but, on the inside, they were different. They were the purity of the forest. The people of the village relied on the stream. It was their source of power; of life. Every day, they would go to the water, and its power would rush up into them, cleansing, renewing, healing, and sharing its own power. In turn, they did what the water could not. They would heal the trees and plants of the forest. They would heal the oak trees who gave them breath, the animals who gave them joy, and the plants who brought them beauty. They were the forests protectors. The waters magic coursed through their veins purifying them all the way down to their souls and bringing them a shining light that surrounded them.Their eyes glowed, and their faces shown with uninterrupted happiness. A skip could be seen in their steps. Everything was going perfectly, until it wasn’t. Their keen eyes started to notice that the water level seemed to be slowly decreasing, until one horrid day, it trickled to a stop. It ran dry. Some would say that just as the stream disappeared, so did the spirit of the people. The life seemed to have drained out of them. They lost their shine and their usual giddy movements turned to molasses under the weight of their depression. Sad, the magical villagers wanted to heal their giver of life. They set off to find the cause of the death of a place that once held pleasure. They walked and walked through the forest. They trudged on through the night, and well into the noon day sun. They followed the empty indent of the dead stream. Every rotting branch they passed mocked them, and every hurt animal they saw caused them to flinch. No longer could they help these beings, they thought to themselves, but soon. Finally they came to a small clearing within the trees, and their sat their nightmare. A pileup of gravelly chaos blocked their beautiful elixir from reaching them. Within the landslide, stones, boulders, and pebbles mixed with the trees and dirt that had been collected in the fall. The villagers shook off any weariness they possessed and got to work. They got together, and slowly dug out, pushed, and demolished the section of the landslide that blocked the water. They worked nonstop, unaware of time, hunger, or anything except the roadblock in front of them. They pushed and pulled until their arms lost feeling, but still they continued. Finally, they got the last of it out. The water rushed by them in a torrent. Hungry, it devoured the empty space preceding it and pushed its way down the ditch. The village people sighed with relief, finally content. They travelled home, and continued their wonderful work, never to be disturbed again.
The Little Village
The little, quiet village was hidden behind acres and acres of oak trees. It was a peaceful place, yet different than any other village. A clear stream ran through the forest. Secluded in the forest, only those who knew where it was located could find it. It ran right through the middle of the village. The huts sat around it. It made it the distinct center of the community. On the outside, the people who lived there looked just as you would expect the people of a civilization living on their own in the forest would look like, but, on the inside, they were different. They were the purity of the forest. The people of the village relied on the stream. It was their source of power; of life. Every day, they would go to the water, and its power would rush up into them, cleansing, renewing, healing, and sharing its own power. In turn, they did what the water could not. They would heal the trees and plants of the forest. They would heal the oak trees who gave them breath, the animals who gave them joy, and the plants who brought them beauty. They were the forests protectors. The waters magic coursed through their veins purifying them all the way down to their souls and bringing them a shining light that surrounded them. Their eyes glowed, and their faces shown with uninterrupted happiness. A skip could be seen in their steps. Everything was going perfectly, until it wasn’t. Their keen eyes started to notice that the water level seemed to be slowly decreasing, until one horrid day, it trickled to a stop. It ran dry. Some would say that just as the stream disappeared, so did the spirit of the people. The life seemed to have drained out of them. They lost their shine and their usual giddy movements turned to molasses under the weight of their depression. Sad, the magical villagers wanted to heal their giver of life. They set off to find the cause of the death of a place that once held pleasure. They walked and walked through the forest. They trudged on through the night, and well into the noon day sun. They followed the empty indent of the dead stream. Every rotting branch they passed mocked them, and every hurt animal they saw caused them to flinch. No longer could they help these beings, they thought to themselves, but soon. Finally they came to a small clearing within the trees, and their sat their nightmare. A pileup of gravelly chaos blocked their beautiful elixir from reaching them. Within the landslide, stones, boulders, and pebbles mixed with the trees and dirt that had been collected in the fall. The villagers shook off any weariness they possessed and got to work. They got together, and slowly dug out, pushed, and demolished the section of the landslide that blocked the water. They worked nonstop, unaware of time, hunger, or anything except the roadblock in front of them. They pushed and pulled until their arms lost feeling, but still they continued. Finally, they got the last of it out. The water rushed by them in a torrent. Hungry, it devoured the empty space preceding it and pushed its way down the ditch. The village people sighed with relief, finally content. They travelled home, and continued their wonderful work, never to be disturbed again.