Thread for "Picturesque" stories! Please refrain from posting until both stories are up! Thank you for your cooperation!
I sit on the grass on the cliff-top, staring at the beautiful sand and crashing waves below me. To the residents of this sea-side town, the scenery that lies on their doorstep is boring, dull, even. They would happily switch lives with a city girl like me given the chance. For me, it's the complete opposite. I would love to wake up to a view like this every morning. They say "boring"; I say "picturesque." Below me, a family of holiday-makers are building a sand castle. To my left − also on the cliff − a group of teenage girls are sitting together, each holding a phone, each ignoring the fascinating scenery that is staring right at them. How do they do it? How do they ignore such beauty? This I will never know. The wind blows hard, and I can feel the hairs on my arms rising. It feels nice. Back home, the only kind of wind we would get is either that of my father's bottom, or from a car exhaust. I sigh. How I long to live in such a picturesque place. I stand and begin walking along the edge of the cliff-top. I get a better view from here. I can see the heads of several seals bobbing up and down in the water. In the distance, I can see a large cargo boat. I roll my eyes. What an eye-sore. A little way along the cliff, I find a staircase made of wood. I begin to walk down it slowly, hoping I don't get any splinters in my bare feet. When I reach the bottom, I step onto the golden-brown sand. It's soft. Like feathers. I wriggle my toes. Suddenly, a small wave covers my feet, sending a chill through my minuscule body. The water is crystal-clear. Beautiful. Pretty. Picturesque. I smile, then sit on the sand, listening to the sound of the calm ocean in front of me. I close my eyes. I have never known such relaxation. It's nice. Comfortable. Like I said, I would love to live here. But, for now, Phoenix will have to do. Maybe, when I am older, Father will take me here − to England − again. Maybe I should move here. To this lovely village. To this beautiful village. To this picturesque village. Picturesque. The only word that will ever truly describe this view. Picturesque.
He was perfect, beautiful. It was like he stepped out of a painting. He was flawless. He was charming. He was the most picturesque creature in the world. ***** “Stay away from Gypsies,” my mother told me, rocking back and forth in her old rocking chair she had gotten from her mother. “They will want something, and they will have you trade anything for what they want. If you want them to do something for you, you have to give them something in return.” After she would tell me this, she would smile and her mind would wander and she would forget she was telling me about the strange creatures called Gypsies. I never believed Mama. She was always in her own little world, telling me about strange, beautiful creatures. I would play outside, near the trees near my grandmother’s home, where she told me they existed. I lived in the city but visited Gran every weekend, winter break, and summer break. I would always sit near the trees, listening to the birds and the animals. And I would always feel as if there was something with me to make me feel not so alone, like Mama was telling the truth. Once, I met a boy. Not just any boy, though, a beautiful, beautiful boy. He was so perfect. His cheekbones were high, his eyes a beautiful silver. His hair, oh his hair, was a beautiful gold, as if it was pure gold itself. His skin was a bronze and his smile was as dazzling as diamonds. He looked like he came from the earth, from beautiful metals. “What is your name?” I asked him, peering at him. He looked like he wasn’t real. But he seemed to be real. But how could anyone be so perfect? “Flint,” he tells me, his voice deep and smooth. “What is yours, dear girl?” “Glimmer,” I answered, mesmerized by his appearance. “My mother has always had a fascination with things that can glitter, and she named me Glimmer.” I straightened my short body, the abnormal short body that an eighteen year old shouldn’t ever have had. “Would you like to come inside?” I looked at his clothing to see strange clothes, almost like they were from the past, and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Yes, I would, thank you,” he nodded, holding his hand out to me. I looked at his hands. They looked like they were crafted from stone, perfect and thy looked so smooth. I took his hand and pulled him away from the trees and towards the house. At the door, he stopped, looking at me. “What is it?” I asked him. “I would like something from you,” he said, blinking once. “What do you want?” “You,” he told me, his voice so beautiful and mesmerizing. It’s so hypnotic. “Why do you want me?” I asked him. I couldn’t take my eyes off his, his silver eyes changing to a darker, stony gray. “Your name, your beauty, and your naivety,” he replied, his lips now at my ear. I felt myself nodding and he smiled, his hand enveloping mine. He pulled me away from Gran’s house and into the forest. He pulled me quickly behind him, jumping over rocks and tree roots. At one point, he picked me up and carried me. After a long, long time, we were deep, deep into the forest. “Where are we?” I asked, looking around. “Close your eyes,” is all he told me. I did as told, and I felt like my soul was being ripped out of my chest along with my heart. “Open your eyes.” When I did as told, I gasped. The nature was beautiful. The trees were a luscious green, flowers were everywhere and of every color, and there were creatures I had never seen before and I had only seen in stories. Faeries, dragons, magical beings, centaurs, and in the pool of water a short distance away, mermaids and mermen. I looked at the beauty around me in utter awe. “What are you? Where are we?” I asked him as I gaped at the land. “We are Gypsies, and this is our home.” ***** The land is beautiful. It never changed through the years, only turning orange in the fall, snow covering it in the winter, and becoming beautiful again in the spring. It was the most picturesque place I have ever seen. I lived in this picturesque land with the picturesque creature, becoming a picturesque creature myself.
Don't know what to say ??? But I somehow like the second story better ??? No offense to the first story's writer, whoever you are!