The Princess and the Peasantposted Feb 1st 2006, 4:26PM
Mood: Blank
Wrote a short story, but Sheezy won't allow me to submit it. So I'll post it here.
Let it be known that this is my final submission to Sheezy Art.
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The Princess and the Peasant
By Tim Blake
One fine morning in the early months of summer, a peasant had decided to take a walk through the forest near the cabin where he and his parents lived. He did this every morning before going to work, to help clear his mind and talk personally to God without interruption.
Soon he became lost, and the sky grew shadowed over by treetops, but the peasant was not worried.
“Oh Lord, I ask you to guide me to safety, and give me a sign in which I may follow out of this foul bush!” he cried out to the air. But God did not answer his prayer right away, so the peasant resumed wandering down an unmarked path, hoping to find his way soon.
There was a soft sound in the air, the peasant noticed after a while, and he stopped for a moment, to listen. The sound was light, and was the most beautiful thing that passed through the peasant’s ears, and he decided to immediately follow it.
Soon the peasant found himself standing before an exit to the forest, and the sound had grown loud and clear to him. “Aha, thank you, Lord!” he praised, and marched past the exit to find himself standing before a great tower. The sound, he discovered, came from a young, black-haired girl, who stood at a balcony above him.
“Ho there!” he called to her.
The girl stopped singing abruptly and tilted her head down at the peasant with a startled look. “Who are you, stranger from the forest? Shall I call my guards to come arrest you?”
“Please don’t,” The peasant said pleasantly. “I was going for a walk, and became lost, but your beautiful voice helped me to find my way. What is your name, fair maiden?”
“A princess doesn’t share her name first with peasants,” the girl said with a smile. “Tell me your name first, and maybe I’ll reveal mine.”
“A princess!” the peasant gasped. He immediately fell to one knee, and put his hat to his chest for respect. “Fair maiden, my name is Thomas.”
“Well, dear Tom, you are the most beautiful peasant I have ever laid eyes on!” the princess replied. “You may call me Princess Carlita.”
Tom rose to his feet and gazed up at the beautiful, fair-skinned princess. “Pardon my rudeness, but please, let us share the morning together, at a pond I found not too far off. I’m a writer of stories and poems, and I would be most honoured to relay them to you.”
“Dearest Thomas, I would be pleased to,” the princess replied, “But if my mother found out, she would lock me in the basement. For I am not permitted to speak to commoners out of pleasure.”
Thomas thought for a moment. “Then stay in your tower for now, and I will return. Be waiting by your balcony this following Tuesday at 8:30, evening time. Your mother should be asleep by then.”
And as he promised, Tom returned a few nights later. He saw the Princess Carlita standing at her balcony with her delicate chin resting in hand. The light of the lamp in her bedroom only made the princess more astounding to the peasant.
“Good evening, Princess Carlita,” he said warmly.
“Good evening, Tom. What say you tonight?”
And without another word, Thomas took a scroll from under his arm, and began to read a story for the princess " and out of sheer delight, she sang for him in turn.
After a while, the princess became startled.
“Good peasant,” she said quickly, “I hear my mother’s footsteps this way. Dash into the wood, and return on Thursday, at 8:30, evening time.”
Thomas bowed gracefully, and did as he was told.
And, as he promised, the peasant returned a few nights later. He saw the Princess Carlita standing at her balcony with her delicate chin resting in hand. The light of the lamp in her bedroom only made the princess more astounding to the peasant.
“Good evening, Princess Carlita,” he said warmly.
“Good evening, Tom. What say you tonight?”
And without another word, Thomas took a scroll from under his arm, and began to read a poem for the princess " and out of sheer delight, she sang for him in turn.
After a while, the princess became startled.
“Good peasant,” she said quickly, “I hear my mother’s footsteps this way. Dash into the wood, and return on Tuesday, at 8:30, evening time.”
Thomas bowed gracefully, and did as he was told.
For many weeks this went on, and both the princess and the peasant became excited about their meetings on the two days of the week, and soon they fell deeply in love, despite the distance and class differences between them.
“I do say, Tom, your stories and poems are so well-thought,” Carlita sighed delightedly one Thursday evening.
“Thank you kindly,” the peasant bowed. “And your voice is so angelic, for you could out-sing any tenor in the land.”
Carlita covered her face and smiled shyly at the peasant. “Dear Tom, if we do marry " and I hope we will " I would be most pleased.”
Tom smiled. “Oh, and would you be all right to become more spiritual? For the Lord is my father, and I must praise Him well.”
“But of course,” the princess nodded. “We shall get married in the best and largest chapel in the country, and we would invite all the world!”
“Oh indeed,” Tom nodded. “But how would we be afford it? I am a mere peasant, and your mother wouldn’t dare to pay for our wedding.”
“Does it matter, Thomas?” Carlita laughed. “I love you, and I want to spend my life with you.”
“And I love you,” Tom smiled. And these words he spoke were true. He loved her so much, that he would willingly die the most humiliating death, if it meant for his Carlita to live on for eternity.
One day, when the beautiful princess was combing out her long, silky, black hair, her door was opened by a tall, handsome man, dressed in only the richest of clothing. Carlita immediately noticed this man, and lowered her brush.
“Dear maiden,” the man spoke with a deep, rich voice,” I come to you offering only the finest jewels and riches. If you marry me, I will give you all you desire: new clothes, a fine dog to keep you company, and my warm embrace at night. We shall be wed at the best and largest chapel in all the land, and we shall invite all the world!”
Carlita instantly fell for this man, and threw her arms around him. “Dear sir, your words stir my heart, but I am in love with another. Please, we must not let him know, for I wouldn’t dare to hurt him.”
As the days crawled by, Thomas grew more anticipated to speak to his princess. He rushed through his dinner, for he had a new story for his fair love, and he wished for her to hear of it first, before he published it.
“Such times as these need a good, strong monarchy,” said Tom’s father suddenly.
“Oh yes, I do agree,” replied his mother. “For the queen is getting old, you’d think her daughter would be searching for some handsome prince to marry by now.”
The father smiled wryly. “You may not be that far off, my wife. For today, I witnessed her walking the streets, arms linked with the Duke of Dansberg.”
Thomas dropped his spoon. “You must be mistaken!”
“Oh, but I wasn’t,” the father smiled more. “It’s so nice to see her finally with someone. They looked so happy together.”
Thomas excused himself from the table and rushed into the forest. If this was true, he needed to hear it from his maiden’s lips.
He saw the princess standing on her balcony, but her face was melancholy, and she had pain behind her eyes.
“Carlita, what’s wrong?” the peasant asked. “Are you ill?”
“Good peasant no,” the princess replied. “I am just tired.”
Thomas stared into his lover’s eyes, and saw that they spoke no truth. “What is wrong?” he repeated.
“Nothing,” Carlita replied. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?” Thomas asked as he sat down on the soft grass.
But the princess did not respond, and this pained the peasant.
“Carlita, please speak to me " for I love you and I hate to see you hurt. Please tell me what’s on your mind. Have I done something wrong?”
“Not at all, my Tom. Nothing wrong have you done.”
“Then what is the matter?”
But again, she did not respond.
Tom sighed softly and looked up at the princess. Her silence was unusual, and it caused him suspicion. “Carlita … What is your relationship with the Duke of Dansberg?”
Carlita looked startled. “He is but a friend and nothing more. Thomas, I swear to you, things between us are fine. I would never do you the harm of finding someone better. You are my one true love.”
Tom smiled. “My father was mistaken then.”
Soon Thursday came, and Tom had written a great love poem for Carlita, but from having to do errands, he had not made it to the tower at the usual time. And, to his despair, the princess was not standing on the balcony, waiting for him. Instead, her doors were closed. But Tom noticed a light through her window, and so he threw pebbles at the pane, but there was no response from inside the room.
“How strange,” Tom mused. He picked up a handful of pebbles, and resumed to knock at her window with a few at a time, but stopped when he realized it was ten minutes to Friday.
Thomas grew worried throughout the following day, and was too anxious about the princess to wait for Tuesday. He rushed through the wood to her balcony that night, but again, there was no sign of Carlita. So, in hopes of hearing from her, the peasant wrote her a quick letter, rolled it up, and threw it onto the balcony, right before the door.
The next few days merely crawled by, and an agonizing feeling made itself home in poor Tom’s stomach. There had been no response from the princess, and the peasant returned to her tower every night since " But though she was not waiting for him, or responding to the pebbles at her window pane, it was obvious she was in her room.
“Dear Carlita!” the peasant cried out into the air, “Why do you torture my mind like this?”
Monday was the Festival of the Sun, where everyone gathered in the streets to watch magnificent floats roll by, dramas on make-shift stages, and stuff their bellies on candy apples.
Though Tom didn’t want to at first, he went to the festival with his parents, in hopes that his mind would be distracted from Carlita, and so far it had been a success. The peasant was smiling and laughing " something he hadn’t done since his princess’s reluctant assurance to him on Tuesday.
Two great horns bellowed out into the air, and the crowd around Thomas cheered enthusiastically.
“Oh grand, here come the royal floats!” cried out his father. “Come, Thomas, let us get to the front and watch.” And without waiting for his son’s reply, the man took him by the wrist and led him past people before the street.
The sinking feeling returned to Thomas when two large, purple coaches came rolling towards them. The first one was the old Queen, who seemed like she was about to fall asleep.
Thomas peered into the second coach’s window as it rolled past, and saw Carlita, and beside her stood the Duke of Dansberg. They waved to the people below, and it was then that poor Thomas noticed that the two of them shared the same style of engagement ring.
Without a word, the peasant fled from his father, and pushed passed as many people as he could. The forest was where he was headed, and for three days he would stay there, alone and in anguish.
On the fourth day, a little while into the afternoon, a team of hunters came through the forest, with the thought of stag in mind for their feast that night. But instead they found Tom; sitting slumped against a tree. His head was lowered, and his hand was clutching tightly to the right side of his chest, where a deep shade of red had stained through his white tunic.
“Boy, get up!” said one of the hunters. “If you’re not careful, you could get eaten by wolf or bear!”
But Tom did not answer. Nor did he move.
Another hunter peered closely at the peasant, and noticed something particular. “Edward, come see this! The boy’s long dead, see, but there are no wounds where the blood has stained him.”
The three hunters carried Tom back to town and gave him to the coroner, who was also surprised at the amount of blood, but no wound to where it could have seeped out.
“Perhaps it’s not his blood,” said a colleague. “Maybe the blood is of someone he murdered, and he died of the cold; hiding in the forest and all.”
“There is only one way to find out,” the coroner replied, and cut Tom’s torso wide open. “Look here, dear friend! For the boy has no heart!”
“Do you think someone could have cut it out of him?” asked the colleague.
“As I said before, he had no initial wounds before I cut him open, but dear friend I believe I understand now. For the blood was indeed his own, but think. The blood was from his heart!”
The colleague looked at the coroner with confused eyes. “Tell me your conclusion, dear Macy. I do wish to understand.”
“The coroner nodded and began to speak. “The boy was found clutching at his heart, where all this blood had stained through his shirt. There was also blood found on his chest, but no wound. I know now what happened; this boy had suffered so much anguish. Someone must have hurt him so much, that his life organ could not sustain the emotional strain.”
“Are you saying then…?”
“Yes, dear friend,” the coroner nodded. “From so much stress, his heart exploded. Whoever hurt him so much, could be nothing than a monster, themselves.”
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