Ever After (5 page)

The men and
women started at her in amazement while her mother preened and
puffed up. Behind her, gold coins jingled as her husband counted
them and sorted them into colourful silk pouches. He occasionally
looked up to remind her of his love and to tell her that if she had
rested, she should start singing again.

It wasn’t long
before she did as he bid. But this time, she closed her eyes and
sang neither for the coins, the praise, her husband or her mother.
She sang for herself. She sang to make the whole world smile.

She sang and
she sang and she sang, her voice soaring over lands and oceans. The
trees began rustling in time to her song. The leaves whispered
melodiously. The ocean rose and fell musically, the rain tinkled
onto the ground.

The birds,
insects, and animals joined in her song. They chittered and
chattered and crooned and chimed. They laughed and danced and sang
all day.

The sun fell
away and moon began to creep up. The sky turned dark hushing all
the creatures of the land.

It was then
that he came to whisper in her ear. “It is time.”

“Who are you?”
she asked him in her mind, while her lips continued to sing.

“The same as
you,” the man replied.

She stopped
singing and looked at him with eyes bright and full of joy.

“It is time,”
she nodded and held out her hand.

He smiled and
touched her palm. The weight fell away from her shoulders and she
became light as a feather. She laughed when he pulled her wrist and
she floated up into the air, up over the bench and over the
enchanted crowd.

He continued to
pull her and she flew upwards, higher and higher, until her nose
poked through fluffy white clouds.

Her eyes
widened, and her heart surged with joy. She beat her silver wings
and summersaulted into a sparkling new world.

Many moons
later she lay back on a happy little cloud and slathered sunscreen
all over herself. She was so close to the sun here, it would take
but a minute to burn. She sipped from a chilled glass of manna and
wondered what to do next.

It would be
lovely to know how to dance, she mused, to dance better than anyone
in the universe.

A few cupids
who were waltzing nearby stopped mid twirl and eyed her in
distress.

She ignored
their aimed arrows and leaped off the misty chair to take her first
dancing steps.

The End

Anya Wylde
lives in Ireland along with her husband and a fat French poodle
(now on a diet). She can cook a mean curry, and her idea of
exercise is occasionally stretching her toes. She holds a degree in
English literature and adores reading and writing.

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Copyright:

This work is
copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act
1968, no part maybe reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a
retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any
means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a
work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either
a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is
entirely coincidental.