Week 14 Storytelling: The End

Finally! Master was taking me hunting with him again! I always love hunting with Master! I get to chase birds and track so many different animals.  And the smells, oh god the smells! So many new things to smell and follow, and I was so very good at that.  I was Master’s favorite dog and by far his best dog.  When we went hunting together, we always brought furry creatures home with us to eat. 

We set off and walked and walked but I couldn’t pick up any good scents.  Everything was days old and there was this odor overlaying everything anyway.  It made my eyes water and my nose twitch.  It smelled like death and decay, but Master kept pressing on.  We walked all day, but still didn’t find anything. 

As the sun fell and night overtook us, we passed a graveyard.  Nasty things, graveyards.  They’re full of dead people buried in the ground.  The whole forest around them reeks of the decay.  I will never understand why my Master’s people insisted on burying the dead in boxes in the ground.  It makes the smell hang around for decades! 

Anyway, as we passed the graveyard, we noticed a corpse that wasn’t in the ground.  It was standing in the middle of the graveyard in a white shroud.  Master quickened his steps and I stuck with him.  I didn’t want to be left behind with that creepy thing!  Unfortunately, the corpse had seen us and came after us. 

As it leapt at Master, I knew what I had to do.  I lunged at the corpse, taking its rotten and disgusting leg into my mouth to help Master.  I fought as hard as I could, waiting for master to help me and put this corpse back in its grave.  But Master abandoned me! As I was grappling with that repulsive thing, he ran off to protect himself!  Thankfully, I managed to get away, but I was very unhappy with Master.  He needed to pay for leaving me to face death without him. 

I raced after Master, catching him as he broke into the clearing around our home.  I lunged at Master as I had lunged at that corpse, showing him how angry I was.  He tried to fight me off, but I was determined.  Master needed to learn that he should not leave anyone to fight off death alone.  Especially when I attacked death to save Master. 

People from the village heard our furious fight and came running, beating me off Master with sticks and whips.  And still Master did not try to help me.  Even after I had saved him from death and was trying to teach him a lesson, he left me to be beaten by savages.  Well, he was my Master no more and that meant I need not hold back the next chance I got. 

Those savages chained me to a tree without food and without shelter.  Any time my former Master entered the yard, I tried to break that chain.  Slowly but surely, I began to wear away at the links, breaking them open until I could escape.  The next time my former Master entered the yard, I charged at him, taking his throat in my mouth and closing off his air, just as I had done to the animals that I had hunted for him.  I could tell it was working, but suddenly my world went black.  I could not see, I could not feel, I could not smell anything! 

Was this my punishment for betraying my Master even though he had betrayed me first?

Author’s Note:

I took this story from the tale of The Dog and The Corpse in the Russian Folktales unit.  I followed the same story line, although the original story focuses on the moujik, the owner of the dog.  I thought it would be really interesting to see this story from the dog’s point of view.  Dogs seem so eager to please and aid their owners, but when they’re betrayed that eagerness dies quickly.  In this case, the owner left his dog to probably die in his defense while he ran away.  What good dog wouldn’t be disgusted at his master at this point?!

"The Dog and The Corpse" from Russian Fairy Tales by W.R.S. Ralston (1887). Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook. 

Image Information: Black Lab. Source: Wikipedia; Yellow Lab. Source: Flickr

Week 13 Storytelling: An Incident in Norman

Some claim that this story takes place in Norman:

A student was walking across campus in the rain when his shoe got stuck in the mud.  He tried to pull his foot out of the mud, but his shoe was stuck fast.  He couldn’t even get his foot out of the shoe! Finally, some of his friends came along and helped pull him out, but there remained a large hole where his foot had been.  This hole opened into a dark room underground.

“Who wants to go on an adventure?”

“I will!” said the student whose foot had been stuck in the mud. They found a rope which they tied around the student and he was soon lowered into the hole.  Let’s call the student Kevin. 

Once Kevin touched down, he looked around and saw a door.  He tried to open the door, but it was locked.  He turned around, trying to see if there was anything else in the darkness, but there was not.  When he turned back, there was a key in the lock.  He turned the lock and opened the door to reveal a young man seated at a table.  The small room greatly resembled a dorm room, albeit a very small and dingy one.

“Who are you?” asked Kevin, but the man was silent.

Three times Kevin asked and on the third, the man said “Turn around, take out your notebook and I will write who I am inside.  When you leave this hole, go to President Boren and make him read who I am, but Boren alone must read this.”

Kevin turned around, took out his notebook, and handed it to the man. The man wrote on the notebook, handed it back, and resumed his seat.

While Kevin was an adventurous and courageous student, he was not made of stone.  He was terrified and wanted to know who this man was and why he would not just tell him.  He looked like a student, but Kevin couldn’t be sure. “How long have you been here?” Kevin asked in a quavering voice.

The man did not respond and Kevin soon grew tired of the dingy place.  He returned to the whole and was pulled up. 

“What was down there? Was there anything good?” they all shouted as he reached the surface.

“There wasn’t anything down there.  I need to go see President Boren to tell him about the hole.  He needs to know,” Kevin replied.

As soon as he arrived, Boren’s secretary escorted Kevin into the office.  When they were alone, Kevin told President Boren what had happened.  Kevin told him of the hole, the door, the man, everything.  Then he took out his notebook and said to him, “Read, Mr. President!”

Mr. Boren read “I AM PLAGION!”

As he declared these words, the poor student became a statue.  

“Damn it, not another one,” Mr. Boren muttered.  “Louise, I have another statue for the campus! We need to find a free space!”

And it is said that that man was Plagion, who was condemned to stay in a dorm room, always reading the essay that he had plagiarized in English, never taking his eyes from the paper.

This is the story of Plagion, who is neither graduated nor student.

Author’s Note:

I chose to rewrite the story An Incident in Rome.  I kept close to the original story, although the original had a little more significance.  The original is the story of Pilate, who believed that Jesus Christ was innocent but acquiesced to the public's will. 

I made the student’s name Kevin because one of the members on my group project was being incredibly annoying as I tried to work on this before class.  He’s a great guy, he was just hyper, so I thought that it would be hilarious if this happened to him… at least the shoe part.

Plagion is the root word for plagiarism.  It was a Greek word, which translates to the Latin word for a kidnapping.  I thought that it was appropriate and was the only thing that I could come up with that would link it to what the student had done wrong.

I also wanted to inject a little humor in the story, which is why I added the little quip from President Boren.  It explains all the statues on campus too!

“An Incident in Rome” from Italian Popular Tales by Thomas Frederick Crane (1885). Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook. 

Image Source: University of Oklahoma. Source: Wikipedia.  Dorm Room. Source: Wikipedia. President Boren. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Week 12 Storytelling: I am Excalibur

There I was, perfectly happy on the hip of one of the most valiant knights in all the land.    I was a beautiful sword.  In my hilt was a perfect blood red ruby surrounded by intricate, well-polished scroll work.  My scabbard was also red and heavily encrusted with gold and jewels.  My knight and I had been in countless wars, slaying the evils that plagued our lands.  My knight was aging, but he was still a strong man who thought that he could take on the world with me at his side, and rightly so. 

Then poof!  My knight and scabbard were gone and I was encased in freaking rock!  The rough stone grated against my smooth blade, scratching up the steel.  How the hell did I go from being at my knight’s side to being in a freaking rock?!  I couldn’t see where I was, I couldn’t hear any voices, nothing! 

I waited there forever sitting in a rock, chaffing against the sides, seeing nothing, hearing nothing. I’m pretty sure I went insane.  Then, all of a sudden, I felt a hand on my hilt trying to tug me out of the stone!  Finally, I was going to be free of this stupid rock!  But as much as that hand, and many others, pulled, I never came free.  So yet again, I was trapped. 

What I think was a few days later, the hands returned, although I was sure that I was stuck there forever.  These hands seemed smaller and smoother than the others, so they must belong to a young boy.  Surprisingly, I was pulled free!  The light was blinding, the sounds deafening!  I was free of that blasted stone!  The boy took off with me and in the distance I could see a tournament being prepared. 

The boy delivered me to a knight and what was said next was lost on me.  The knight took me to another and said “Sir, this is the sword of the stone, therefore I am the rightful King." The other knight appeared doubtful and took us to another man. 

Now this is where I began to drift off.  I was so excited and happy to be free of the stone that I did not care what these men were prattling on about.  Maybe I could find my knight now! I could go back to fighting wars and slaying evils.  I was free after all! 

However, the men began to walk back to where the boy had pulled me from the stone.  I could not go back into that darkness! I would lose my sanity!  Try as I might, however, I was returned to the stone and four more times, with long periods in between, I was pulled from the stone. 

On the fourth time that I was drawn from the stone, I saw a great crowd of common people around the boy, the stone and me.  The second that I was free from the stone, the crowd began to scream and cheer, chanting the young man’s name.  Everyone around us fell to their knees with tears on their faces: young and old, rich and poor. 

The young man was declared king, and with me at his side!  While I may not find my knight again, I was now at the hip of a man who was chosen by the people, a man with the natural ability to lead and rule. 

The young man’s name was Arthur and he was now king of Camelot.  I protected him for many years, slaying those that threatened his life and the life of the kingdom.  Although my former knight had never named me, this boy called me Excalibur and we ruled Camelot with a firm hand and a loving heart. 

That is, until we were separated and I never saw the young man again.  I heard that he was given another sword by a lady of the lake, one that, while not as good as myself, still helped him rule his kingdom. 

Author’s Note:

For this week’s story, I chose to rewrite the King Arthur story, The Drawing of the Sword.  I kept the same story line, but rewrote it from the viewpoint of Excalibur.  I thought it would be an interesting viewpoint since the sword is so central to the tale of King Arthur.  I wanted to show how it would feel to be encased in stone, waiting for the One True King to come along and draw you from the stone.  And once you’re finally free of the stone, you are placed back into it again and again because the knights would not accept your bearer as the one true king. 

Bibliography: "The Drawing of the Sword" from King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang (1902).  Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook

Image Source: Excalibur in the Stone. Source: Flickr

Week 11 Storytelling: The Cows of Mooville

Once upon a time, in the town of Mooville, there was a crowd of wild young Cows.  They rampaged the fields, ravaged the food supply, and drained the winery on a nightly basis.  The farmer was just about fed up when he came up with a plan to make the Cows calm down.  If the Cows realized where their selfishness could lead, maybe they wouldn’t destroy Mooville.

One night, as the Cows were celebrating as usual, they heard the clanging of a cowbell.  Since they had all removed theirs before the celebrations commenced, they were curious where it was coming from.  Three Cows in particular began to tipsily follow the sound of the bell.  They stumbled and bumbled until they encountered the farmer on his tractor, dragging a Cow along behind him. 

“What are you doing?” one cow slurred.

“Oh, this Cow went a celebratin’ a couple towns over in Moomania,” the farmer calmly replied.  “Unfortunately, he met that sly old thief Death came along and killed him.  He kills lots a people thereabouts.  Takes a rather keen Cow to trick old Death.  Unfortunately, this Cow could not.”

The three Cows rallied their spirits and decided that they were more than smart enough to defeat Death.  They set off towards Moomania and along the way, they encountered a poor, withered old Cow.  This Cow wove them a tale about his own encounters with Death.  By the end of the tale, the three reveling Cows were enthralled and demanded to know where they could meet Death. The old Cow simply pointed down the road, where it split in two. 

The three Cows raced, as well as tipsy Cows can race, towards the fork in the road that was the home of Death.  When they reached it, they found a pile of golden cowbells! They turned to see the old Cow, but he had disappeared.  In their drunkenness, the tipsy Cows did not even question his disappearance. 

Of course, the golden cowbells needed to be split between the three of them but they also needed a way to carry it back to Mooville. Clearly they could not travel during the day, since someone might see them and want to take their cowbells. 

They came up with a plan.  The fastest of the three, who also happened to be the least drunk, was to go to Moomania and fetch some satchels as well as some food and drink for the three of them.  Then they would spend the day with the golden cowbells before traveling back to Mooville. 

The one Cow set off for Moomania and the remaining two sat down to rest.  As they were sitting, they began to think.  Why should they split the gold between three, when they could easily split it between two? The two sitting Cows came up with a plan.  When the runner returned, they would overpower him and take the gold for themselves. 

Of course, what the running Cow had the same idea.  Why should he share the gold when he could take it all for himself? He decided that he would poison two of the wine bottles and take the golden cowbells back to Mooville himself. 

Now, you know what they say about the best laid plans.  And remember that this is a story about Cows that went in search of Death. 

So, when the running Cow returned, the two sitting Cows immediately jumped him.  One pinned him down while the other knocked him over the head with a rock and he never moved again.  The two remaining Cows sat down to celebrate their success, cracking open the food and wine that the runner had brought back.  As soon as the wine touched their lips, they fell down dead alongside their comrade. 

These Cows had gone in search of Death and Death had found them first!

Author’s Note:

For this week’s storytelling, I rewrote The Pardoner’s Tale:The Revelers.  I followed the original story for the most part, although I did cut out quite a few details.  The general story line is the same though.  I have no idea where my idea of replacing the revelers with Cows came from.  There were no cows in sight, I wasn’t drinking milk, I really don’t know!  But it sounded like a great idea at the time.  Now that I’m done with it, I’m not so sure, but who really cares!

Bibliography: “The Pardoner’s Tale: The Revelers” from The Chaucer Story Book by Eva March Tappen (1908). 

Image Source: Cows. Source: Flickr. Three Cows. Source: Flickr. Sleeping Cow. Source: Wikipedia.  

Week 10 Storytelling: A Tale of Two Sisters

In the land of Candy Corn, there was a king with two beautiful daughters.  They were rumored to be the most beautiful in all the land and they were finally old enough to marry.  The two young women had many suitors, including kings, princes, knights, and everyone in between.  However, to their father’s dismay, they refused every proposal. 

Little did the people of the kingdom know, but the god of the land had sent every one of his friends to ask for the daughters’ hands in marriage.  He finally decided to come to Candy Corn to evaluate the young women.  He arrived during the night, appearing as poor, dirty beggars. 

Meanwhile, the young women were priding themselves on their success.  They believed that their father would acquiesce and not force them to marry.  They were happy with their freedom and didn’t want to be under the thumb of a man.  Why did they need husbands?

When they awoke, the noticed that a tent had appeared outside of the castle where the merchants usually set up.  It looked bedraggled and dirty, definitely not one of the usual crowd.  They mentioned it to their father, but he took no action against the new people.  He always had a soft spot for the poor and hungry, and was loathe to throw them out.

Unfortunately, the king had resolved that night to find husbands for his daughters, since they refused to choose their own.  He devised a contests, the champion of which would marry his daughters.  The contest was announced and the young men of the land traveled to the city in droves.  They couldn’t wait to win the contest and marry the most beautiful women in the land!

On the day of the contest, every man lined up to take his shot.  They were to shoot an apple off the highest turret while standing in the courtyard.  Amazingly, every single man missed!  The king was in disbelief, until suddenly an arrow pierced the apple!  When he looked around, he saw the young beggar man standing with a bow in his hand. 

“Young man, is that your arrow in the apple up there?” the king asked.

“Yes, my liege.  It is,” the dirty young man replied. 

“Well, unfortunately I cannot declare you the winner of this contest.  No one saw you make the shot, so we must hold another.  Tomorrow, we will have a hunting contest!” declared the king. The man with the greatest kill would be declared the winner.

The beggar looked piqued but did not dissent.  Meanwhile, the two daughters were very grateful that their father had declared another contest.  They did not want to leave their life of luxury for that of poverty and hard work. 

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The next day, the men assembled for the hunt.  Men without horses were given the stable nags, the slowest of which was given to the beggar. The rest of the hunting party was not concerned about the beggar beating them this time, because they knew he could not keep up.

When the horn blew, the entire party took off at a gallop with the beggar lagging far behind.  The group disappeared into the woods and there was only the occasional horn sound to let the castle know of the progress. 

Several hours later, the castle trumpet sounded to call the hunting party back to the keep.  They came in slowly, all toting their kills on their saddles or in their saddle bags.  However, the beggar was nowhere to be seen.  Finally, as the final kills were being compared, someone spotted the man returning from the woods.  As he drew closer, the people could see what appeared to be a small sleigh being pulled behind the beggar’s nag. 

When he rode into the keep, the entire company gasped.  He had shot a 12 point buck, the greatest catch of all the hunters.  Of course, there were cries of cheating and deceit, but the king honored his promise.  Unfortunately, his elder daughter had already promised herself to a foreign king, without her father’s knowledge.  The younger daughter was able to fulfill the promise, however.

She followed the beggar to his tent and cared for him.  She did her wifely duties with nary a complaint or wish for her old life.  They stayed within the castle walls and she visited her father every day.  Her sister, who was still in residence, was always decked from head to toe in jewels and fine fabrics.  She made a point to degrade the younger sister every chance she got.

However, on her return from visiting her one day, she could not find her husband’s tent.  In its place was a grand tent, made from beautiful silks and poles made of gold.  She began to worry if her husband had been pushed from his spot by this extravagant newcomer. 

Suddenly, an incredibly handsome man exited the tent.  He had long black hair, a chiseled jaw, broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and eyes to die for.  He was the man every woman dreamed of, but he was not her husband! She drew breath to berate him. However, he beat her to it.

“Before you ask where your husband is, look closer, my love.  I am your husband, but I have finally assumed my true form.  I am the man that this land worships.  I came to earth to see what all the excitement was about you and your sister, but you are by far the better woman.  You honored your deal, despite the misgivings that I know you had.  You never complained either, and I know it wasn’t easy.”

The woman couldn’t believe what was going on.  She was married to a god! The man gave her something to eat and explained that it would make her like him, so they could stay together for eternity. 

Of course, the older sister wanted to join them, but her husband took her to his home, which turned out to be a drafty castle filled with smelly old men.  You know what they say about Karma!

Author’s Note:

I chose to rewrite the story of Dirty-Boy this week.  It seemed like one that I could easily twist about and had enough superfluous details that I could shorten it to fit my need.  I kept pretty close to the original story, although in the original, there were two deities that came to the village. 

I’ll be honest about the name of the kingdom.  I’m sitting at my desk shoveling candy corn into my mouth as I am writing this, so it seemed like an appropriate name.  It makes the kingdom sound more than a little childish, but I’ve come up with worse names!

I didn’t make any major changes to the story other than changing the details.  I kept close to the original because I thought it was a good story that would teach a good lesson.  Too many changes would have changed the message!

"Dirty-Boy" from Tales of North American Indians by Stith Thompson (1929).  Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook. 

Image Source: Castle Keep. Source: Wikimedia Commons; Dirty Tent. Source: Wikimedia Commons; 

                       Turkish Tent. Source: Wikimedia Commons

Week 7 Storytelling: The Strangest Case of the Day

When something bad happens, people always find someone else to blame.  “It wasn’t my fault, it was his” seems to be a very common utterance, in case you hadn’t noticed.  In fact, I bet you’ve said it yourself more often than you can count! This is the story of just such an occasion, and the interesting way that the judge decided to solve the problem.

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There I was, having a perfect day.  It wasn’t too hot, it wasn’t too cold, and I hadn’t had any trying cases come into the court.  Most of it was just simple, day to day things that needed court approval before any action was taken.  Mostly it was just administering oaths and being the “impartial third party” for a few minor disputes.  It was going to be a wonderful day! That is, until two knuckleheads walked into my courtroom.

You see, these two young men, neighbors in fact, were arguing over who was at fault for a broken pot of oil.  One man had been driving his truck down the mountain path into the city, the back full filled with wood.  Meanwhile, the other young man was sitting on the ground with his pot of oil sitting on a rock beside him.  

Old Pickup Truck. Source: Pixabay

In case you didn’t know, neither of them were really following the laws of the city.  The man with the truck was speeding and trying to re-tune the radio at the same time.  He came around a bend at breakneck speed and some of his wood flew out of the back.  The man with the oil should not have been on that road in the first place, as it is strictly for motor vehicles.  There is a walking path that he should have been on instead of the road. 

Anyway, the two morons were quarreling over the broken pot, trying to decide who to blame.  I decided to teach the two a bit of a lesson, especially for fighting over something so trivial.  I knew that the man with the oil had a mother to care for and that selling the oil was his only livelihood.  I also knew that the man with the truck did not have the money to pay for the oil.  So, I devised a way to teach a lesson and get the man the money he was owed.

“Clearly it is neither of your faults.  It is the fault of the truck and the rock.  They are the ones that I will judge.  Bailiff, chain up the truck in the courtyard.  Make sure that it cannot move.  Then go retrieve the rock and chain it to the pole, and don’t forget to wrap it in chains.  I don’t want it going anywhere until the hearing.” 

I knew I sounded insane, but I was trying to prove a point after all.  Word swept through the town about my wild decree, so I knew my plan would work. 

On the day of the hearing, a great many people showed up to hear the trial.  Once the time of the trial arrived, the doors to the courtroom were locked, so no one could leave until the hearing was finished.  I took my seat, called the people to order, and proceeded to pronounce my judgement on the case.

"As you very well know, there is no law by which a truck and a rock can be judged. Why have you all come to see so absurd a thing? Now, because of your curiosity in the matter, every one of you shall pay five dollars before he gets out."

Everyone looked very much ashamed of themselves, but were more than happy to pay their way to leave the courtroom.  Thanks to the great number of people who had shown up, there was a decent sum of money by the time the room emptied.  This money was given to the man who had lost his oil, so the man was happy, their friendship was rectified, and the debt was paid.  Most importantly, I was finally able to close the court!

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Clearly this case could have been solved outside the court if the men hadn’t been set on blaming one another.  Some deal could have been worked out and the debt would have been paid.  However, because they did not want to take responsibility for their own actions, they could not settle their own differences! While the case worked out in this instance, that is not often the result of such actions.  

Author’s Note:

For this week’s storytelling, I chose The Story of the Donkey and the Rock from the Tibetan Folk Tales unit.  I kept pretty close to the original story, but I did change the point of view and that the one man was driving a truck instead of a donkey. 

I thought it would be fun to see what the judge thought of such an odd case.  I thought that a case like this would not come around very often, but would be a great chance to teach people a lesson.  I included almost a narration at the beginning and end, just to change it up a little bit.  It kind of gives the story more of a lesson type feel to it, which fits!

"The Story of the Donkey and the Rock" from Tibetan Folk Tales, by A.L. Shelton (1925). Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook. 

Week 6 Storytelling: Escaping the Darkness and the World Beyond

I lived in a world of darkness.  It was all that I had ever known, all that I could remember.  The darkness was large enough for me to stand and stretch, but was enclosed by… something.  I don’t know how long I had been in the darkness or if there was anything but darkness in the world. 

One day, the darkness cracked.  I could see something, something so completely opposite the darkness that it burned.  It terrified me, but when the darkness did not return, I decided to further the cracks.  After much work, I was finally free from the darkness.  The world was so bright, so big, that I bowed in each direction out of thanks and worship. 

While I already knew how to stand, actual movement was hard to figure out.  I had no teacher and there was no one in sight when I escaped the darkness.  Gradually I learned how to walk and jump.  I was so excited and happy to be able to explore the world that I cried out with joy.

As I grew up and explored what I came to learn was an island, I met other beings like me.  I learned I was an ape, but I was different from the others.  No other ape had hatched from the darkness and no other ape was made from stone.  However, they accepted me into their community. 

Together, we ate and laughed and played. We had no concept of responsibility or an end to our existences.  We were happy. 

Waterfall. Source: Wikipedia

After a time, we were enjoying the coolness of a pond in one of the valleys.  It was fed by a rushing, pounding fall of water, something we had never encountered before. 

One of the apes said, “Whoever can force his way through the waterfall without suffering injury shall be our king.” I knew that I would be able to cross the fall of water since I was made of tougher stuff than the other apes, quite literally. 

“I will pass through,” I cried.  I closed my eyes, bent down low, and leaped through the roar and foam of the waters.  On the other side, I wiped the water from my face and opened my eyes.  I saw an iron bridge with a stone tablet above it engraved with these words: “This is the heavenly cave behind the water-curtain on the Blessed Island of Flowers and Fruits.”

I was so excited that I leapt back through the waterfall and told the other beasts what I had seen. They all wanted me to help them cross the waterfall.  I took each ape and monkey into my arms, covered them with my head and shoulders, and leapt back and forth through the falls until they were all on the iron bridge.

We ran towards the castle cave that was on the other side of the bridge and pilfered everything we could.  The cabinets held pots and pans and cups that were made of stone, the same stone I was made from!

All the apes and all the monkeys saw this and began to bow before me. They called me the Handsome King of the Apes.  I appointed the different species to be my counselors and officials, my servants and retainers.  We led a peaceful and happy life in the cave, sleeping in the great hall and feasting on the fruits and flowers that were surrounding the castle cave.  We kept away from all the other beasts and birds, enjoying untroubled happiness. 

In this way, some three hundred years went by.  

Author’s Note

For this week’s storytelling, I found it very difficult to choose a story to rewrite.  They are so intertwined with one another that it was daunting to choose one that I could write independently.  

I chose to rewrite the beginning of Sun Wu Kung's story, the Handsome King of the Apes. In the original story, the tale is told from a third person point of view.  The Stone Ape hatches from a rock that was on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits.  He catches the notice of the gods, who write him off as something they do not need to worry about.  In the remainder of the story, he quickly becomes a very serious problem for the gods, causing all sorts of mischief and problems. 

In my rendition, I decided to tell the story from the ape’s point of view.  He had existed within the rock for a while before he hatched and he knew nothing else.  I thought it would be fun to see how he dealt with the new world and how he became part of the ape community.  He was so different from the other apes and finally that difference payed off.  I would have loved to rewrite the entire story after I wrote this, but I didn’t have the words that would let me tell the whole thing.  

"Handome King of the Apes" edited by R. Wilhelm and translated by Frederick H. Martens, from The Chinese Fairy Book (1921). Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Week 5 Storytelling: One Goblin, One King, Twenty-Two Riddles

Sissoo Tree. Source: Wikipedia

ONCE UPON A TIME, I was a goblin named Riddle.  I lived in a sissoo tree within a vast cemetery, which was perfect since I relish my peace and quiet.  Unfortunately, people would occasionally interfere with my business, so I would disguise myself as a dead body hanging from the tree (It was a cemetery after all!).  I lived this way for many years, doing deals with the occasional passerby who could solve one of my riddles.  No one ever solved more than one of my tricky riddles! That is, until HE came along…

I’d been living in my tree for maybe 50 years when a man came by in the dead of night.  Instead of simply walking by, however, he cut me down from the tree! And then he slung me over his back like a sack of potatoes! The humiliation! I kicked and screamed for a few moments before I remembered that if he answered on of my riddles, I would return to my tree.  I could go back and finish my dinner and forget about this embarrassing situation.

Cemetery at Night. Source: Wikimedia Commons

And so I told him a riddle, and being the smart king that he was, he answered it and I returned to my tree.  But the bastard followed me back! Again and again I told him one of my riddles, and again and again he answered them true.  I thought that eventually he would give up and leave me in peace. But nooooooooooo.  The man was incessant, constantly cutting me down and ferrying me back down the cemetery road in the middle of the night.  I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t day time or someone might have seen me being lugged around on the back of this brute!

After 20 riddles, 20 trips back to the tree, and 20 trips back down the cemetery road carried upon his shoulders, I decided to give him my masterpiece of a riddle.  No one had ever answered it correctly.  Not the wizards or witches, not the princes or knights, not even the farseeing oracles of old.  No one had ever figured this riddle out. 

As I told the story, I saw his brow get more and more furrowed.  I could practically see the wheels turning in his head!  I had him! I finally had him! He would answer wrong, his head would burst and I could return to my tree! Unfortunately, that isn’t how this case turned out.  All the wizards, witches, princes, knights and oracles had tried to answer this riddle and their end had come.  But this king was smarter than the others. 

Since he didn’t know the answer, he actually kept his mouth shut! Have you ever heard of a man doing that?!  They at least try on the off chance that they might be right! But not this man.  He kept silent, which impressed me beyond measure.

I decided to help this impressive, tenacious man.  I knew that the monk would try to harness my power to become the king of the fairies.  I also knew that this man would be a beneficent ruler to both his human kingdom and that of the fairies.  He was honorable, strong, kind, and smart. 

I warned him of the monk’s plan and told him how to circumvent it.  When we arrived to the meeting place, the king followed my instructions to the letter.  The monk was dead and he was the soon to be king.  But he didn’t want the job or the power.  What he told me next was more impressive than all the riddles he had solved. 

“O magic creature, if you are pleased with me, I have nothing more to wish for. Yet I ask you to make me one promise, that these twenty-two different, charming puzzle-stories shall be known all over the world and be received with honor."

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While I was loath to leave my tree, I felt an obligation to fulfill this great man’s wishes.  And so I traveled, for one year telling my riddles to every man, woman, and child that I encountered.  For that year, I even left out the side effects!  After that, I continued to travel, telling my riddles.

I thought that I would miss my old life and the peace and quiet of my tree in the cemetery. And for a time I did.  However, the farther I traveled, the more I began to enjoy myself.  I enjoyed the new sights and foods, sharing my stories with new people who would never have heard them otherwise. 

To this day, I’m still not sure if the king planned this all along.  Did he know I would enjoy travelling and telling my stories? Or did he just want to share them with the world?

Author’s Note:

I chose not to do any individual story from the Twenty-Two Goblins unit, but to instead do a sort of overview story from the goblin’s (who I called Riddle) point of view.  I kind of meshed the Introduction and the Conclusion and added things in the middle. I kept the story the same, but left out a few details that I didn’t think were entirely necessary.  The original story more follows the king, setting up in his court and revolving around his determination to fulfill his promise to the monk. 

I thought it would be intriguing to write this as if Riddle was telling the story from the present.  She’s looking back on her life and how this moment changed it so drastically.  Few had ever solved her riddles with such confidence and ease, and no one had ever chosen to say nothing when they didn’t know the answer.  I thought it would be fun to show how humiliating it would be for a goblin to be carted around on the shoulders of a man, especially a man as tenacious as the king of these stories.  I also carried it a bit further by telling how she reacted to her travels, coming to enjoy them and the opportunities they afforded her!

"Introduction" and "Conclusion" from Twenty-Two Goblins, translated by Arthur W. Ryder (1917).  Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Week 4 Storytelling: A Tale of Two Brothers

The CEO was named John Hedj.  He was the leader of a multibillion dollar technology firm that specialized in keeping a variety of people’s money secure.  He had a state of the art building in New York City, enclosed in glass and full of steel and humming computers.  The facility was the most secure building in the world. 

The money of the richest clients was actually secured on a computer in Hedj’s office on the top floor.  The money codes could be downloaded to any bank computer in the world for instant access.  This included the riches of Hedj himself.  However, two of the programmers, brothers in fact, contrived a backdoor into the program.

A few years later, the brothers’ mother was dying of cancer and they did not have the money to pay for the hospital bills.  They went to a wireless café in NYC and hacked back into the computer system, transfer a small amount of money into a secure bank account.  When they had their money, they ensured that they had left no trace of their presence.

Hedj was furious when he discovered some of his money was missing.  Again and again, the hackers returned and stole more and more of his money.  Finally, Hedj decided to hire a new programmer to create a Trojan horse in the system that would attack any foreign entities. 

A few weeks later, the brothers returned, needing yet more money for their mother’s hospital bills.  As they had planned, one brother hacked in to secure the system and the other held back to steal the money.  As the first brother hacked into the program, the Trojan horse struck.  It locked up his computer and activated his webcam, sending the image and information to Hedj’s security firm.  He knew it was too late for him and that he would spend his life in jail, but he was able to save his brother from the same fate. 

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Years later, the brother was finally put on trial for his crimes.  He would surely receive life in prison for all that he had done, especially since he had stolen money from such powerful people. 

Meanwhile, his recently recovered mother grieved in secret.  She knew that her son had only stolen the money to pay for her hospital bills, and she knew her other son could free him with the use of his skills. 

The free brother set up a system of computers that would constantly jumble the IP addresses, throwing off any people trying to trace him.  He then hacked into the computers of the attorneys and Hedj’s company, erasing all copies of the evidence against his brother.  In the modern world, he knew that there were no hard copies of the data and that this would cancel the trial and free his brother.

Hedj was furious that the hacker had escaped.  He knew then that he must have had help to hack into his company.  He hired a female hacker, the best in the world.  He told her to send out feelers for a pair of hackers who had accumulated vast sums of money. 

She talked to many people in the hacker community and at length she found them.  The hackers knew someone was looking for them and they set up a meet with the woman.  The brother who had remained free was the one to approach her.  She said that she would help him hack into the company again if he told her how he had done it in the first place.

He told her, but when she tried to seize him and take him to Hedj, he got away.  Any attempts to track the brother were thwarted.  When the woman returned to Hedj and told him how the hacker had erased all traces of himself online, the CEO was impressed.  He sent out a proclamation online, offering a pardon and a reward if he turned himself in.

The hacker went readily, certain that there was no evidence of his activities. Hedj was so amazed by the hacker’s abilities that he gave him a job within his company.  There is no one more creative than a hacker, but this man had no equal in the world.

Computer Hacker. Source: Wikipedia

Author’s Note: 

I chose The Tale of King Rhampsinitus for my story this week. In the original story, a King built a chamber to house his treasures but one of the builders left a removable stone in the wall.  The sons of the builder later broke in, until one brother was caught in a trap.  The remaining brother cut of his head to protect his identity and later impressed the King so much that he was pardoned. 

For my rewrite, I decided to place the story in modern day.  I took the idea of digital money from the movie The Losers.  In my version, the brothers are hackers who steal money from a CEO whose security program they wrote.  The word Hedj is actually the ancient Egyptian word for silver or money.  I thought it was appropriate for the setup of the story.  

“The Tale of King Rhampsinitus” from Egyptian Myth and Legend by Donald Mackenzie (1907). Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook. 

Week 3 Storytelling: The Human Child of a Mother-Wolf

Curious Wolf. Source: Kiza

There I was, perfectly content loping through the woods in search of game.  I knew there had to be deer around here that I could feed to my young sons, I just had to find them.

Suddenly, I caught a whiff of something disgusting.  Humans.  Nasty, filthy, horrible beasts.  I slunk through the bushes towards the smell, hoping for an easy meal, but I didn’t see any of the beasts around.  However, I did hear some whimpering coming from one of the bushes to my left.

When I eased toward the sound, I found one of their repulsive offspring.  I crept forward, preparing to pounce and end its life.  It would make a decent meal for my four young sons, but then I had a thought:  If I save this human, it may one day repay the favor. 

So I raised it alongside my true sons, hoping that my decision would one day pay off.  It was quite the burden, no hair to keep it warm, no strong teeth to kill pray.  While it ran on four legs like us, it was much slower than we were.  It was a struggle to keep it alive in those early years.

Eventually, the human was taken by a hunter, a prince nonetheless.  I was glad that my family and I would finally be free from its stench.  I ran after the human with my sons, making it seem like I wanted it back in case it one day returned.

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Years later, the royal family held a hunt in my woods.  I was an old she-wolf by then, not as fast as I had once been.  My sons were able to run from the hunters while I tried to hide in the bush.  The hunter’s hounds, however, sniffed me out. They bayed to the hunters and gave chase. 

I ran, but the hunting party was right on my tail.  I knew the royal’s home was not far and the human had to be there.  I decided that it was time for the human to repay my former kindness.  I ran for the palace, with the hounds nipping at my heels and the horses thundering behind them.  I howled and yelped as I ran, hoping that the beast would hear my approach.

As I burst through the trees, I could smell my two-legged “child”.  I bolted straight for its scent, hoping that it would recognize me.  Thankfully, it opened its robes and embraced me.  The beast declared that I, and my true children, were under its protection and were welcome at its table.  Praise the Moon! The stupid beast had fallen for my false love.

From then on, my sons and I dined at the human’s table.  We had food coming out our tails.  All we had to do was howl for entry and we were welcomed to its bountiful table.  It was the best life that a she-wolf could ask for. 

Now if only we could figure out how to kill the beast and keep the food...

Bountiful Table. Source: Wikipedia

Author's Note: 

I based my story off of the tale The Wolf-Mother of Saint Ailbe in the Saints and Animals unit.  The original story is of a kindly wolf mother who comes across an abandoned child in her territory.  She takes the child and raises his as her own until he is taken by a hunter, the prince.  The child grew up to become a much loved Bishop.  However, he never forgot the wolf who raised him.  When she came to him with the hunting party on her tail, his love returned and he saved her life.

This story made me think of all the tales where the wolf is the villain.  Usually the wolves are just brutes that attack in a more or less straight forward manner.  They do not think long term or consider how they may be affected in the future.  Because of this, I wanted to write about a wolf that was thinking about her future.  In fact, she’s thinking of saving an infant so that it will help her much later in life.  It gave the story a darker twist and showed that the wolf was not a simple animal.  They are intelligent as well as strong and crafty.  They kill when it benefits them, such as food or protection, so why wouldn’t a smart wolf prolong a life if it benefited them farther down the line? 

"The Wolf-Mother of Saint Ailbe" from the Book of Saints and Friendly Beasts, by Abbie Farwell Brown (1900). Web Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook