I sell items which are associated in some way with my stories. The story-copyright is not for sale.
The little cliff in the wood was covered in big, thick lumps of moss, and some of these lumps had gone black and turned to earth. In this earth grew long, green and grey grasses, waving in the light wind. In the gaps between the lumps of moss, among the swaying grasses, grew round, dark-green leaves: leaves like arrows; like drips of water; and like hands. From these leaves sprang flowers of all colours, covering the cliff with perfumed stars that twinkled as the air turned their heads.
The cliff was an oblong-shape, and apart from the lumps of greenery, was fairly flat. Its top sloped, and if you stood back among the trees, you could see oblong dips in the front of the cliff. If you stared long enough, you could see the shape of a cottage.
There was a small, dark hole in the cliff, and Simon lit a match. The flame moved, but he could see blue butterflies in there, making blue light. Bats hung, their eyes glittering. A green, metal beetle crawled out onto Simon's hand.
He looked at his hand. It was a lump of moss and earth; daisies and buttercups. He moved it: the flowers moved the other way. His hand was a mirror. He held it to his face: he saw an old man with baby skin. He stared, and saw a baby with wrinkles.
Back in the city he studied to be an architect. The first building he designed was a school in the High Street. Its street-wall was flat and plain, just one sheet of mirror-glass. When you looked at it you saw the other side of the road.
Inside the school a little girl stood up and said, “Miss, please may we have curtains? All these men keep combing their hair in the window, and I can't do my work.”Copyright 1991 © LS
THIS ITEM TO BE AUCTIONED IN My Ebay Shop IN 2003/2004
Images hosted by Reactive Networks: see my About Me page.