Writing Prompt 51: Gingerbread
I do love a fairy tale. The ones I find most interesting are the ones that weave a world of magic and horror, where the princes and princesses aren't always who they first appear to be.
Some British and European fairy tales have ancient origins, rooted in the storytelling traditions of different regions and communities.
For this week, try writing a story to be read out loud, to be told by the fire on a cold winter's night. Perhaps a story to be passed down, not through the social networks of our smartphones but through a story-telling connection with our friends and families.
What’s the story you would like to tell?
The Witch
Inside the house, the kitchen felt warm and comforting, with a smell of spice embedded in every wall.
Agnes sat down on a crisp brown chair decorated with glace icing swirls and a couple of jelly tots. The seat pressed hard against her bony bottom. She shifted in the chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs. A cup of hot chocolate sat opposite her, wisps of steam curling up and disappearing into the rafters. She leaned forward on the table. The edge broke off underneath her elbow and landed in her lap. She picked it up, snapped it in half and popped it in her mouth. She closed her eyes, crunching on the baked biscuit, savouring the taste of Christmas and home rolling around her tongue.
When the witch emerged from the garden, Agnes had feasted on half of the chair next to her.
"Not to worry," the witch said. "I bake a batch every day."
She opened a cupboard and pulled out four legs, a seat and a chair back. A bowl of thin, watery icing sat on a shelf nearby. The witch fitted together a new chair using the icing as glue.
"There," she said after half an hour. "I'll decorate it once it's dry."
She pushed it with her foot over into a corner before rinsing her hands in the kitchen sink which shone like glass.
"Sugar glass," the witch said, tapping her knuckles against the side. "Took forever to perfect. The dog does like to lick it though."
An old cocker spaniel brushed past Agnes and wandered up to the witch. He reached out his long tongue, pressing it on the side of the sink, leaving a trail of thick, sticky slobber.
The witch rolled her eyes and filled his bowl with water.
Story first posted November 2019 // Illustration: Janet & Anne Grahame Johnstone from Dean’s Gift Book of Fairy Tales, 1967.
