Post by Aquisha on Sept 25, 2011 10:16:21 GMT -5
So this story has a kind of funny origin but I'll put that at the end. But special thanks to Faya for suggesting this subject. I never thought I'd actually write it because of my tight if irrational hold to canon, but maybe I'll make this one exception.
Much love you guys!
- Paige
Smooth and light. That was a perfect stone for skimming. They weren’t too hard to find if you knew just where to look. Most people would scour the beach and only find a few rocks and not very good ones either. But the young prince headed for the tide pools. Shoes discarded on the beach, pants rolled up to the knees, he squatted down with his bucket beside him and grabbed the gray gold by the handfuls, stopping every now and then to let an unearthed crab scurry about to find a new hiding place.
When he felt he had enough, he took the loaded bucket with both hands and waded unevenly up the beach. He stood where the water would just kiss his feet and wiggled his toes in the sand. Dropping the bucket, he cupped his hand over his brow and looked at the still water for a moment. He didn’t really know what this was for but his father always did it before he started skimming. The boy thought it wouldn’t hurt to do the same (he even scrunched his nose the way his father did for good measure).
He picked up his first stone and tossed it. Plop. A dud. Unfazed, he tried another. Plop. And again. Plop. This went on for about six subsequent attempts. The boy put his hands on his hips. A look of consternation took his face as he looked at the bucket of stones, clearly blaming them. He sighed and shook out his hands. He mimed a few throws. That felt right, like his father showed him the first time. He picked up a stone, wound back and released. Clip, clip. Two skips. Two skips wasn’t bad. It wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t bad. Five skips would be better. Good thing he had a lot of stones.
Beneath the waves a little mermaid scanned the sunlit seafloor. She was supposed to be looking for shells, but finding some human thing would be more fun. In her search, she’d drifted farther away from her older sisters than she’d intended. Any normal merchild would be nervous at the idea of swimming alone so near the surface, but it was a dream come true for this one. Happy to have momentarily escaped supervision, she went ahead turning over rocks and putting the occasional interesting shell in her coral colored bag on her quest for human litter.
She was losing hope of finding anything when a glimmer caught her eye further up the shelf. She swam over to it quickly and found a clear thing sticking out of the sand. Pulling it up, it looked like a little container with a graceful little handle. It was just big enough for her to cup it with two hands. It was clear and delicate and beautiful in the sunlight. It was so perfect. She felt bad having to hide it away in her bag before someone saw her. It was just tucked away when she heard it. Clip, clip, clip. She looked up only to see a small flat stone drift down to the sand. Confused, she squinted up at the surface and waited. It happened again. Clip, clip, clip. Sink. This time she saw the stone bounce on the water before it sunk below it. She grinned. Clip, clip, clip. Sink. Without being aware of what she was doing, she’d swum closer to the surface.
Three was much better than two but it still wasn’t five and the boy was determined to see his goal met. He took another stone with his left hand and tossed. Clip, clip, plunk. The boy blinked in disbelief. No. He picked up another stone. Clip, clip, plunk. Yes. That was a hand. A small hand, but a hand nonetheless. A hand had picked his stone off of the water. His heart was beating wildly out of his chest. He took a few steps back as if to run, but then he stopped. This wasn’t a claw or a bloody hook reaching out of the water, it was just a hand. A claw or a hook might be able get him but a hand, a hand even smaller than his? That he could handle. He would stand his ground (like any good sailor would). Ok. Maybe he could outsmart the Hand. He took another stone and tossed it a little to the right of where he’d thrown before. There was the Hand. He aimed a little to the left. Hand again. It was smart. Smart could be fun. He tossed a stone straight out to the water, about where he sent the last stone to see what would happen.
She hadn’t meant to do it, but she wanted to see if she could catch the stone so she tried and she did it. And then she did it again. And she did it over there and over there. She hadn’t missed one. She was good at this game. Dunk. A stone fell into the water to the sand. No fair! She couldn’t tell where that one was going to land like she could with the others. The little mergirl didn’t know this particular game but that had to be against the rules. She pouted at the ruination of her perfect score and in a fit of complete little girl abandon she picked up the stone and tossed it out of the water toward where it came from. If it had any sense, it would hit whoever threw it.
The boy waited. He cupped his hand to his brow again and looked out to the water on his toes. Splash. The Hand, an arm attached to the Hand, and the stone flew out of the water. It caught him so completely off guard that he fell backward, rear onto the sand. He saw where the stone landed and beamed from it to the water. He had taught the Hand how to play catch.
The little mergirl hardly knew if she wanted to stay and play with someone who didn’t play fair. She was about to turn tail and look for more human things, but something stopped her. It had been a good little game. It would be rude not to say “thank you” or at least take a peek at who she had been playing with.
Now she might be a little reckless, but she wasn’t dumb. She swam up to a large rock that jutted out of the water not too far from her. Best not to think of what her parents or sisters would say; she wanted to see her playmate and that was that. So with one deep breath, she breached the surface.
The boy was still grinning with pride at the skill of his new playmate when a voice called him.
“Eric!” it said from the steps.
The boy scrambled to his feet and turned around.
“Back inside in ten minutes,” said the stout housekeeper. “Make it five. I can see from here that your pants are a mess, young man.” She turned on her heels and skirts in hand, scurried back up the steps.
He winced. That sounded bad. But at least he had a lot more stones and a hand to play catch with. He turned back to the water just in time to see a little face disappear behind a rock.
A boy. She’d been playing with a human boy. That was incredible! It was the most exciting that had ever happened to her! And it was fun. Nothing bad happened like her father said it would. Wait. Now she remembered all her father’s warnings and the worry that had been so obviously absent about her situation came to her. Her heart raced. She ducked back beneath the surface just in time to see those human fin-things clomping into the water.
He ran into the water and waded awkwardly the rest of the way to the rock. He held on to it with one hand as he maneuvered around it (he couldn’t swim underwater very well yet), feeling about with his free hand. Nothing. He sat up on the rock. Maybe. He laid flat on the rock on his stomach and put his hand in the water. It was like fishing. If he was patient and he waited. Maybe.
When she’d swum a good distance, she stopped and flopped herself on the seafloor like a flounder. She might be scared but she was still curious. The boy went all around the rock, his bare little fins flailing. She thought that was funny. Then he was gone. That was good. Who knows what he wanted to do with her? Put her in a net. Put her in a bowl. Put her on a plate. She shook the thoughts from her head. But then, a hand. A little hand in the water. Well, a little bigger than hers, but not by much.
She should leave. She’d been very lucky up to now and she shouldn’t push it. She lifted herself up onto her hands, arching her back. Then she tilted her head to the right. She thought. It was just a hand.
He rested his head to the side on the back of his free hand. The sun was hot. It was making him sleepy. His eyes lids were drifting closed and then, they shot open. He scrambled to his left elbow and looked into the water. The sun sparkled on the surface and he squinted to see through it. But he felt it, the little hand in his. Then he saw her. A girl. A girl with a tail. He’d been playing with a little mermaid with the reddest hair and the bluest eyes. He closed his fingers around her hand. She smiled. It was a pretty smile for a girl. He grinned. He wanted to say “hello”. So he pulled on her hand, not rough, but he pulled. Her face changed and she let go. He saw that he’d scared her. It felt awful. She looked around, then back at him. Without another smile, she swam away.
He took his hand out of the water and sat back onto the rock. And quietly he pulled his legs into his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head down.
Plunk. He looked up. The little hand holding up a skimming stone. He looked at it and smiled. With as much care as a little boy can have, he took the stone from her palm without even touching her and her hand was gone. He leaned over the rock and looked down, but it was just water and sand.
With his shoes in his hand and one pant leg falling lower than the other, the young prince walked back up to the castle, a single skimming stone tumbling about in his bucket.
So me again! So that origin story. Well, the entire story came to me before bed: the skimming stones, the hand-holding, everything. So all that was left was a title. Clearly skimming stones had to be in it. I said that out loud and immediately started singing "Crocodile Rock". "Holding hands and skimming stones" is an exact line from that song. I hadn't thought about it before writing to story at all. I was floored. Especially because another story I've been working on is inspired by "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues"- a song that always makes me think of Ariel and Eric. Elton John, get out of my head!
Much love you guys!
- Paige
******************************************************************************************
Smooth and light. That was a perfect stone for skimming. They weren’t too hard to find if you knew just where to look. Most people would scour the beach and only find a few rocks and not very good ones either. But the young prince headed for the tide pools. Shoes discarded on the beach, pants rolled up to the knees, he squatted down with his bucket beside him and grabbed the gray gold by the handfuls, stopping every now and then to let an unearthed crab scurry about to find a new hiding place.
When he felt he had enough, he took the loaded bucket with both hands and waded unevenly up the beach. He stood where the water would just kiss his feet and wiggled his toes in the sand. Dropping the bucket, he cupped his hand over his brow and looked at the still water for a moment. He didn’t really know what this was for but his father always did it before he started skimming. The boy thought it wouldn’t hurt to do the same (he even scrunched his nose the way his father did for good measure).
He picked up his first stone and tossed it. Plop. A dud. Unfazed, he tried another. Plop. And again. Plop. This went on for about six subsequent attempts. The boy put his hands on his hips. A look of consternation took his face as he looked at the bucket of stones, clearly blaming them. He sighed and shook out his hands. He mimed a few throws. That felt right, like his father showed him the first time. He picked up a stone, wound back and released. Clip, clip. Two skips. Two skips wasn’t bad. It wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t bad. Five skips would be better. Good thing he had a lot of stones.
Beneath the waves a little mermaid scanned the sunlit seafloor. She was supposed to be looking for shells, but finding some human thing would be more fun. In her search, she’d drifted farther away from her older sisters than she’d intended. Any normal merchild would be nervous at the idea of swimming alone so near the surface, but it was a dream come true for this one. Happy to have momentarily escaped supervision, she went ahead turning over rocks and putting the occasional interesting shell in her coral colored bag on her quest for human litter.
She was losing hope of finding anything when a glimmer caught her eye further up the shelf. She swam over to it quickly and found a clear thing sticking out of the sand. Pulling it up, it looked like a little container with a graceful little handle. It was just big enough for her to cup it with two hands. It was clear and delicate and beautiful in the sunlight. It was so perfect. She felt bad having to hide it away in her bag before someone saw her. It was just tucked away when she heard it. Clip, clip, clip. She looked up only to see a small flat stone drift down to the sand. Confused, she squinted up at the surface and waited. It happened again. Clip, clip, clip. Sink. This time she saw the stone bounce on the water before it sunk below it. She grinned. Clip, clip, clip. Sink. Without being aware of what she was doing, she’d swum closer to the surface.
Three was much better than two but it still wasn’t five and the boy was determined to see his goal met. He took another stone with his left hand and tossed. Clip, clip, plunk. The boy blinked in disbelief. No. He picked up another stone. Clip, clip, plunk. Yes. That was a hand. A small hand, but a hand nonetheless. A hand had picked his stone off of the water. His heart was beating wildly out of his chest. He took a few steps back as if to run, but then he stopped. This wasn’t a claw or a bloody hook reaching out of the water, it was just a hand. A claw or a hook might be able get him but a hand, a hand even smaller than his? That he could handle. He would stand his ground (like any good sailor would). Ok. Maybe he could outsmart the Hand. He took another stone and tossed it a little to the right of where he’d thrown before. There was the Hand. He aimed a little to the left. Hand again. It was smart. Smart could be fun. He tossed a stone straight out to the water, about where he sent the last stone to see what would happen.
She hadn’t meant to do it, but she wanted to see if she could catch the stone so she tried and she did it. And then she did it again. And she did it over there and over there. She hadn’t missed one. She was good at this game. Dunk. A stone fell into the water to the sand. No fair! She couldn’t tell where that one was going to land like she could with the others. The little mergirl didn’t know this particular game but that had to be against the rules. She pouted at the ruination of her perfect score and in a fit of complete little girl abandon she picked up the stone and tossed it out of the water toward where it came from. If it had any sense, it would hit whoever threw it.
The boy waited. He cupped his hand to his brow again and looked out to the water on his toes. Splash. The Hand, an arm attached to the Hand, and the stone flew out of the water. It caught him so completely off guard that he fell backward, rear onto the sand. He saw where the stone landed and beamed from it to the water. He had taught the Hand how to play catch.
The little mergirl hardly knew if she wanted to stay and play with someone who didn’t play fair. She was about to turn tail and look for more human things, but something stopped her. It had been a good little game. It would be rude not to say “thank you” or at least take a peek at who she had been playing with.
Now she might be a little reckless, but she wasn’t dumb. She swam up to a large rock that jutted out of the water not too far from her. Best not to think of what her parents or sisters would say; she wanted to see her playmate and that was that. So with one deep breath, she breached the surface.
The boy was still grinning with pride at the skill of his new playmate when a voice called him.
“Eric!” it said from the steps.
The boy scrambled to his feet and turned around.
“Back inside in ten minutes,” said the stout housekeeper. “Make it five. I can see from here that your pants are a mess, young man.” She turned on her heels and skirts in hand, scurried back up the steps.
He winced. That sounded bad. But at least he had a lot more stones and a hand to play catch with. He turned back to the water just in time to see a little face disappear behind a rock.
A boy. She’d been playing with a human boy. That was incredible! It was the most exciting that had ever happened to her! And it was fun. Nothing bad happened like her father said it would. Wait. Now she remembered all her father’s warnings and the worry that had been so obviously absent about her situation came to her. Her heart raced. She ducked back beneath the surface just in time to see those human fin-things clomping into the water.
He ran into the water and waded awkwardly the rest of the way to the rock. He held on to it with one hand as he maneuvered around it (he couldn’t swim underwater very well yet), feeling about with his free hand. Nothing. He sat up on the rock. Maybe. He laid flat on the rock on his stomach and put his hand in the water. It was like fishing. If he was patient and he waited. Maybe.
When she’d swum a good distance, she stopped and flopped herself on the seafloor like a flounder. She might be scared but she was still curious. The boy went all around the rock, his bare little fins flailing. She thought that was funny. Then he was gone. That was good. Who knows what he wanted to do with her? Put her in a net. Put her in a bowl. Put her on a plate. She shook the thoughts from her head. But then, a hand. A little hand in the water. Well, a little bigger than hers, but not by much.
She should leave. She’d been very lucky up to now and she shouldn’t push it. She lifted herself up onto her hands, arching her back. Then she tilted her head to the right. She thought. It was just a hand.
He rested his head to the side on the back of his free hand. The sun was hot. It was making him sleepy. His eyes lids were drifting closed and then, they shot open. He scrambled to his left elbow and looked into the water. The sun sparkled on the surface and he squinted to see through it. But he felt it, the little hand in his. Then he saw her. A girl. A girl with a tail. He’d been playing with a little mermaid with the reddest hair and the bluest eyes. He closed his fingers around her hand. She smiled. It was a pretty smile for a girl. He grinned. He wanted to say “hello”. So he pulled on her hand, not rough, but he pulled. Her face changed and she let go. He saw that he’d scared her. It felt awful. She looked around, then back at him. Without another smile, she swam away.
He took his hand out of the water and sat back onto the rock. And quietly he pulled his legs into his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and put his head down.
Plunk. He looked up. The little hand holding up a skimming stone. He looked at it and smiled. With as much care as a little boy can have, he took the stone from her palm without even touching her and her hand was gone. He leaned over the rock and looked down, but it was just water and sand.
With his shoes in his hand and one pant leg falling lower than the other, the young prince walked back up to the castle, a single skimming stone tumbling about in his bucket.
***********************************************************************************************
So me again! So that origin story. Well, the entire story came to me before bed: the skimming stones, the hand-holding, everything. So all that was left was a title. Clearly skimming stones had to be in it. I said that out loud and immediately started singing "Crocodile Rock". "Holding hands and skimming stones" is an exact line from that song. I hadn't thought about it before writing to story at all. I was floored. Especially because another story I've been working on is inspired by "I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues"- a song that always makes me think of Ariel and Eric. Elton John, get out of my head!
