#flashfictionmagic – THE HEDGEROW
When my grandfather tells stories, he acts like it’s a dance. Or perhaps a tug-of-war. The story won’t come out of him without the proper amount of pressure and grumbling and scolding, but by the time the tale has been born from his mouth and lies crying in your arms, you realize he meant it to be this way all along, and you usually wish you’d tiptoed around his hedgerow instead of leaning on the iron gate.
I’m dramatic, I know. But what else do you expect of one raised by a grim old man cursed with green eyebrows?
If you push and pull with enough ferocity, the tale that spills from him will be me. I’ve heard my own story countless times, but only because I know the best places to listen in along the bushy hedges. He knows I’m there—he’s always had that sense about people—but he’ll never tell the story to me.
Perhaps you’ve heard it? The one where he was tricked into buying an enchanted trinket that belonged to the Elf King?
Why would the Elf King care about a trinket, you ask?
Well, if you were a capricious king who frequently magicked your most exasperating daughter into inanimate objects, you’d be worried too, wouldn’t you?
What did you think? Let me know in the comments below, and follow @sheriyutzyauthor for weekly magical stories!
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