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Sabyana Storyteller

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“A great storyteller is as entranced by her story as those who listen.” Dark, stringy hair falls over feminine shoulders. Her voice is deceptively wise for her age, which the gathered villagers know to be a mere 13. Her knees are bent beneath her, her body covered in a thin dress of sackcloth. Arms are crossed tightly against the cold, though she stubbornly refuses to move closer to the fire. In this place where a good storyteller is valued more than an emperor, it is an odd sight indeed to see one such as her dressing like a peasant. Just as she refuses the fire, however, she refuses the gifts of gold and silk offered to her. Her name is Sabyana, Sabyana Storyteller. But hush now- she speaks.

“There was once a time when dragons roamed the skies, when a Phoenix kept the world in light and warmth, and when the Morning Star was pure. All of you, everyone who hears this story, remembers this time. Young or old, the ancient history of our ancestors is in our blood, our heart, our soul. Tell me, can you remember the sight of a onyx dragon moving through the air, carving patterns through the clouds and weaving baskets of the winds? Answer me now; do you see it? Remember it?”

The young children, eyes closed and little half-smiles on their faces, nod their heads softly. Yes, they see it. The adults have eyes firmly opened, and mouths turned down at the edges. All with the same emotion- disappointment. This is not what they usually get from their Storyteller.

“And the Phoenix- can anyone forget it, truly? The wings of spun gold that blind you with the light of the sun, the eyes of not only infinite wisdom, but that of warmth as well? The beak the color of a rose in bloom, mixed with the blood of a first-born son, the talons that pierce the sky-cloth with the silver of the moon within? Answer me this: Do you remember?” The entranced adults’ eyes start to drift closed, their guard against enchantment growing weak. Suddenly Sabyana looks at the gathered, and her eyes seem for a moment to be made of slivers of moon glowing silver and white against her dark skin and hair. Silver- like the talons of a Phoenix. But then the moment is gone, and her eyes return to a mundane gray, made large and doe-like by her drawn features. Regarding nobly her bewitched audience, she continues, breathless by her exclamations. “And the angels- Oh the angels... See now those who had fallen, those who had risen, those who were gods among men. And remember, you who have gathered to hear my lowly tale, the Morning Star, Lucifer, who at one time was as pure as snow and a rose. Remember when he protected Eden against those who would harm her, when he saved the child of God from his father’s wrath. Lucifer, the only one who remembered our humanity and allowed us our mistakes, knowing we were not made with God-like perfection. Remember those angels who have fallen, never to rise again into the streets of sun beams, towers of moonlight, and rainbows of jewels. Weep now for those who can’t, those frozen in time to forever be in pain and guilt, never to be forgiven. Feel to yourselves the profound sadness of those, the ones who feel the wrath of God.” A tear runs down her face as her voice grows weary and pain-filled.

“Yet wait, for the story is not yet over. As we remember the Phoenix and the Dragons, the angels and the gods, there is one more thing we must never forget. You who have gathered here, look to the sky. See the stars- the exact same stars dragons flew throughout, the same pinpricks of light the angles sleep amongst. Remember the time when the first human raised her head from the immediate task of food and praised the maker, for she saw the simple beauty in the stars and relished it. Remember to yourselves, even before that, when the Mother and the Father laid together and slept under this same sky, each star to them representing a hope. Remember the verse in the story of the Maker, which tells us that there is only one who counts the hair on our heads and knows each dream in our hearts- only one who numbers the stars. You-” and here she points at a young girl with a voice like a lark, “You are known by Him. You will live and grow, and will offer your wisdom to those around you for thousands upon thousands of days. And you-” pointing to an old man with gray hair and a bent back, “Though your days on this earth are now numbered, you will live on. Forever. You and you and you-” everyone glances up as if her accusatory finger has brushed their consciousness- “will never die.”




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PenguinHINTHINT! said...
Nov. 21, 2010 at 9:20 am:

it sucks. JKJKJJKK!!! you said to be brutal!! but that's not true. I'm so jealous of how fast you whip out these amazing stories and I can't forget them. you truly have a wonderful gift in the arts of storytelling. i wish i had that.

one thing i see in almost all of your work, it incorporates YOU in some form or another as the main character. Not singergurl12, but YOU!!!! :D

 
singergurl12 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 21, 2010 at 9:40 am :
thank you so much!!! and trust me, i've read much better. this is nothing compared to some of these 12 and 13-year olds who write like someone with years of experience and inspiring people around them. I just have the imagery and imagination, none of the structure or technique.
hm... emo characters who usually barely avoid killing themselves by sheer willpower... yup ;) thats me
no but i seriously would be a sucky writer if i didn't have my experiences to draw from. i just tweak a litt... (more »)
 
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