Google Search by Image Tech Tip

For this tech tip I used the first image:

By Raphael "Sistine Madonna" Cherub detail. Wikimedia

The search result led to the Wikipedia page which these cherubs are a small part of, called the "Sistine Madonna" which was painted by Raphael.

Week 11: Haunted Cemetery (Storytelling)

I've always been a relatively normal, unsuperstitious person. I’m in my third year of college. Eventually, I want to be a wardrobe and prop designer for movies and TV shows. I was good at making prop weapons. I created an Etsy shop where I make custom designs. It wasn't like I was making a living by making them, but it was some extra spending money and I loved doing it. So, when my friend, Nick came to me, asking for a prop knife, I jumped on the opportunity.

For Halloween, he decided to be some sort kind of killer ghost from a movie. Anyways, he wanted a ‘ghost dagger’ made out of resin then painted to look like some old magical knife. After making the mold, I showed it to him before I started painting it.  Nick had been researching ghost stories in our area. That’s when he came up with a ridiculous bet.

 “I dare you to paint the knife in the haunted graveyard at night,” he said as his eyes sparkled with the challenge.

I scoffed. “There’s no such thing as ghosts. And no, that’s stupid. Why would I want to go to a cemetery at night to paint something I can paint in the comfort of my own apartment?”

“I’ll pay you double if you paint it in the graveyard tonight.” He didn't think I would do it. 

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Fine. Get ready to pay up.” He took me to the cemetery and showed me the grave I was supposed to work at. According to an internet source Nick swore was reliable, this spot had the most ghost sightings. I rolled my eyes but agreed.

It was much harder to be sarcastic when you were alone at night with headstones surrounding you. The moon was high overhead as I walked through the quiet cemetery. “I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts,” I whispered to myself as I moved towards the gravestone that Nick had shown me. The white plastic bag that held my paints, brushes, and the knife swayed in the breeze. 

Finally, I found the headstone marked, James Marcus O’Riley, a man who whose death date was almost a century ago. I took a deep breath before I set down the bag and pulled out my paints for Nick’s ghost knife.

I sank to my knees beside the supplies, leaning against the headstone. My body was tense as my “I don’t believe in ghost” mantra continued to run through my mind. I quickly began painting the knife. I may not believe in ghosts but that doesn't mean I want to spend the whole night in a cemetery.

Suddenly the wind picked up and began swirling leaves around the grave where I sat. My gaze shifted back and forth between the painting job in my hands and scanning my surroundings for movements. I jumped at ever crack of a twig or rustle of a leaf.

Then I saw something moving a few graves down. It was like something coming out of the ground, something translucent. My heartbeat picked up and my hands began to paint faster. I watched a translucent head break the surface of the earth.

In a booming voice it said, “Do you see me? Why have you trespassed this night?”

I stuttered, staring but not believing my eyes. “Yes, I see you. I’m here to paint this… then I’ll be gone.”

Now more of the ghost’s body rose out of the ground as his eyes glared at me. The wind continued to pick up, blowing my hair into my face and sending leaves flying. “Do you see me rising more? Leave this place at once!” His voice continued growing along with the tightening of my chest and the quickness of my breath.

“Yes I see you! But I've got to finish this!” I shrieked in panic. Was an extra thirty bucks worth this? That could be like three meals out. Yes it was. My hands were shaking, slopping the paint a bit. But I kept going, trying to watch the rising ghost and the prop I painted in my hand. I was almost finished. It was much more difficult with the wind slapping my face with hair, grass, and leaves.

Now the ghost was almost completely out of the ground. “Do you see me standing? This is your last warning! Leave now!” I looked down at the knife. Just a couple more seconds and I’d be done.

“Why do you keep asking if I can see you?” I yelled, my voice breaking in panic. “Can you see how much I’m shaking? Obviously I’m terrified of you! But I need money to afford to eat something besides Taco Bell!” My eyes stung, whether from tears of fright or the continual dirt the heavy wind threw into them, I’ll never know. I glanced down. The painting was done and the ghost was completely above ground. I grabbed the knife, trying to keep the still wet paint from smearing. With the knife in one hand, I grabbed all the supplies I could reach in the others and took off. I left some paint bottles behind but I didn't care.

As I ran I heard shouts behind me. Mistakenly I turned around. The ghost was chasing me. I ran as fast as I could through the cemetery. The wind was so intense it obstructed my vision, but finally I saw Nick sitting in his car in the parking lot. I turned one last time; the ghost was getting closer. I yanked open the door breathing hard. “Go! Now!” I screamed. The ghost would catch up in a few seconds.

Nick did as I asked but looked concerned. “Why were you running?” I looked back towards the ghost again. There was nothing. The night air was still. I didn't answer as Nick drove away. I just stared, trying to find any trace of the ghost that I hadn't believed in. 

"Ancient Cemetery" Source

Author's Note: The original story was from the Celtic Fairy Tales called The Sprightly Tailor. In the story a tailor who doesn't believe in ghosts is commissioned to make a wealthy man a pair of shoes. the man says he will pay the man more money if he makes the shoes in a haunted cemetery. The tailor does. As a ghost slowly rises from the ground, the tailor inists that he will leave as soon as he finishes the shoes to claim receive is bigger price. When the ghost fully rises from the ground and the man finishes the ghost chases him away.

For my story I made it a modern day setting and changed the characters and what was being made in the cemetery, but the overall plot stayed the same. I picked this story because I thought it was very fitting for Halloween being later this week. 

Week 11: Celtic Fairy Tales Reading Diary

This week I read the Celtic Fairy Tales reading unit. Story source: Celtic Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs with illustrations by John D. Batten (1892).

For Part A my favorite stories were The Shepherd of Myddvai and Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree.

The story of the  Shepherd of Myddvai surprised me. I had heard some similar stories before, but the endings were never like this one. Other stories I had heard that were like this one started the same, where a man won over a mystical woman and she said she would be a good wife to him if he didn't hurt her. In the other stories I had read, they usually ended with the man beating her and she either left and took the children and everything they owned back to her mystical land or she killed him. But this one, I felt sorry for the man. When she said that when he tapped on her shoulder, he had  "struck her without cause" it surprised me. All of the times she said he "struck her" were innocent gestures. It almost seemed like she was trying to find any excuse to leave. I was also surprised that she left her children behind, and only visited them once more when they became adults.

The second story that I liked in the first half of the readings was Gold-Tree and Silver-Tree, which was a version of Snow White. One thing I liked about this telling of the tale was that Gold-Tree (the Snow White of the story) married the prince before she was poisoned by her mother, Silver-Tree. I also found it interesting that while the father knew his wife wanted to murder their daughter he found her a ship to go and see her on, believing she only wanted to visit, even after she asked the father to kill Gold-Tree and serve the mother her heart and liver. I also thought that it was interesting how after Gold-Tree was poisoned by her mother, the prince didn't think to remove the poisoned stab from her finger before locking her in a separate room.  It took him to remarry and the second wife to resurrect Gold-Tree, and then both wives being okay with both staying.

For Part B my two favorites were the story of Beth Gellert and the Tale of Ivan. 

The Story of Beth Gellert was very sad. I felt awful for the father and the dog. I could definitely see how the father would make the mistake he did by believing his beloved dog had killed his son. I was thinking it as well while reading the story. As soon as the father heard the baby cry I realized what had happened. This reminded me a lot of the scene in Lady and the Tramp when Tramp is taken to the pound because they think he attacked the baby but he was actually saving the child from the rat. In the end it was an honest mistake on the man's part, and it showed how awful he felt for killing the dog. Still, the poor dog must have been so confused and hurt and scared by his master's reaction when the dog had been just protected the baby. 

The last story I'm going to talk about is the Tale of Ivan. This story left me very curious about the master who Ivan worked for for three years. It seems that somehow, the master knew what was going to happen, and withheld the wages to make Ivan pay attention. I was very confused about why Ivan would agree for three years to give up his salary for one piece of advice, but I guess its a good thing he did because head he not he would have gotten robbed, framed for murder, and not had a job when he returned home. I liked that the ending had Ivan's three years wages which he thought he gave up for advice cooked into the cake. Overall I thought this was a clever story. 

Week 10: First Writing Memories (Essay)

From an early age, my parents have little art books with stories in them that I wrote, but I don't have any solid memories of writing those. However, this last summer we went through a lot mine and my brother's old projects like that and it was really fun to read the little stories I had written.

 And through school, I learned cursive in third grade and had little papers and writing projects due throughout schooling. But to me, that was always just school work I had to do. I don't have any distinct memories of school writing before fourth grade.

My first memory of writing often outside of the required school work was when I began fourth grade.

In fourth grade, we had just moved to Colorado and  I was enjoying school for the first time in years. One of the teachers decided to set up a writing club for the fourth and fifth graders. I joined with a friend and once a week we would go to the club on our lunch time and talk about stories and write.

This is when I first thought that I wanted to write for a job when I grew up. I had read books all through my childhood (but that's a different essay). But with this writing club I wanted to make my own. I wanted to make other people feel the escape that I felt when reading.

One of the most vivid memories of this club was the first day, the teacher brought each of the students in the club a Lisa Frank pocket folder.For anyone who didn't go to school somewhere where there was a Lisa Frank craze, those folders and notebooks were like the riches of the class. They were designs of cartoon animals and sometimes people with bright rainbow colors. The girl with the most and best folders may as well have been the queen of the grade.

Lisa Frank Dalmatian Design. Source

The folder I got had two dalmatians with colored spots and paint brushes in their mouths. I'm pretty sure I still have that folder in a box somewhere. But anyways, one side of my folder was crammed full of poems and little stories and the beginnings of longer ones that I never finished. The other side had print outs of writing tips the teacher had given us.

I wrote so much that year that I now have permanent writing callouses on my hands for the first time and one of my fingers had a graphite tint there the pencil lead would rub it.

This is when my passion for writing really began. This is when I began collecting notebooks and folders that would all have random scribbles and poems and stories. While I know I did write earlier. For me, this club in fourth grade was when it all started.

Week 10: Legend of Pleiades (Storytelling)

There once was a young man, who never fit in with his village. He was a daydreamer and never connected well with people his age. Instead of going hunting with the others, he would rather watch the clouds in the day and the stars at night. He would lie in the grass, looking up, imagining what it would be like to live sky. But the other villagers believed that reality was where people should stay.They would whisper about the young one who was always lost in his mind.

When his parents insisted he find his own place to live, he moved to the very edge of the village’s land. He built his house on a lake that marked the end of their territory. It was peaceful there. The sunsets and would glisten off the lake and the moon’s path would be reflected across the clear water at night. Here his mind could wander without the judgmental eyes of his village.

Lake Shoreline by Norm Andreiw. Wikimedia

For the first few nights he stayed at the house, the quiet filled the air, broken only by the gentle lapping of water on the bank and the sounds of animals in the distance. One night, a week after the man moved to the lake, he woke to hear voices in the distance. The wind carried soft singing and laughter into his house. He stood quickly and listened to be sure he wasn’t dreaming, but the sounds continued.

He quietly snuck out of his house and followed the sweet sounds. He had rounded the side of the lake, when the sounds became clearer. There was splashing and giggling and singing from a group of girls close by. He continued to walk, trying to find where they were. Finally, he pushed some tree branches to the side to reveal seven young women. They were singing and dancing in the lake, splashing one another and giggling in the moon light.

The young man began to move towards them, when his foot slipped, sending rocks tumbling down the bank. The girls froze, searching for the source of the sound. Before he could move again, all of the young women grouped together and disappeared.  They seemed to somehow ascend into the sky, but they boy didn’t understand how they could. After staring silently at the now calm lake, he made his way back home, trying to work through what he had just seen.

The next morning when he woke, the young man decided it was probably a dream. Yet, he couldn’t shake his curiosity. So he decided to sleep that day, and return to the place he thought he had seen the women that night.

When the sky turned to the darkest shade of blue, he left his home once again. The faint moonlight revealed footprints. Maybe it hadn’t been a dream. He made it to the other side of the lake. When he reached the tree line, a scuffmark was etched into the ground where his foot had slipped. The man walked a few steps forward and sat on the rocky bank of the lake to wait for the women he was certain wouldn’t come.

For a few hours, nothing happened. The man watched the stars and the rippling of the water as the wind brushed across it. As he gazed up again, he looked for patterns in the stars. Suddenly, the star he was looking at dimmed, and seemed to streak toward the earth. He sat up. He shifted his gaze back to the lake, where one of the women stood before him, the water rising a little above her ankles.

She looked at the man suspiciously. Her only movements were the wind catching her long dark hair and her eyes looking over the man and the forest behind him. When she spoke, her voice was as clear and beautiful as the man had heard the night before. “You were the one spying on my sisters and I last night?” An angry edge seeped into her soft voice.

“I… I didn’t mean to spy on you,” he stuttered. “I just heard the singing…”

She continued to watch him cautiously. “So, why are you here now?”

“To… uh… to see if I imagined you… and apologize for startling you, too.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman or form a coherent thought. She began to relax a little, although she didn’t move any closer.

She looked up at the sky and nodded. He managed to tear his gaze from the woman to see six other stars streaking towards the earth. Then there were six women standing behind the first. Her sisters.

“This man means us no harm,” she said to the girls standing behind her. He nodded, trying to reassure them. That night he stayed by the side of the lake. The younger sisters played in the water. The middle sisters sang and danced together. The oldest, the first woman to come down, sat with the man and they talked.

She asked him about his life and world. She told him about their lives, living in the stars. Then at the end of the night, she and her sisters rose again into the sky world. For many weeks after, the oldest sister and the man would talk nightly, while her sisters played and sang. During the days, the man waited until he could see her again. Finally, after months of these meetings, he asked the oldest sister to marry him.

She told him she wanted to but she couldn’t leave her sisters. They sat in silence for a while before she said, “Would you come with us? I know you have your family here, but you could come and live in the sky with us if you wanted.” After some thought, the man agreed. He and the seven sisters ascended to the sky. Even today, in the night, you can see the seven sisters shining bright. But one stays close to another star, her husband. This is the constellation Pleiades. 

Pleiades by NASA. Wikimedia.

Author's Note: The original story was called The Origin of the Pleiades from the British North America reading unit. I kept the overall plot the same, and the third person narrative, but I changed a lot of details in the plot and added more back story. In the original, the young man just spied on the seven sisters for a long time and never approached or talked to them. When he decided he wanted to marry one of the women, he ran at them from the trees and just grabbed the most beautiful one before she could get away. He then said she would be his wife and would stay on earth with him. The woman agreed to be his wife but said that he had to go to the sky world with her for them to marry. I wanted a less creepy/stalkery version of the main guy and a bit more of a romantic story, instead of a type of bride capture. 

Story source: Myths and Legends of British North America by Katharine Berry Judson (1917). 

Week 10: British North America Reading Diary

For this unit I read the British North America Folklore unit.

For part A, I had two favorite stories, Creation of the Earth, and The Burning of the World.

The Creation of the Earth story, was unlike any creation myth I had heard before. Like most myths, the story says that in the beginning there was nothing, only blankness. However, there were also living things (people or personification?). I'm not quite sure how all of the characters Earth, Sun, Moon, and Stars change from the beginning to the end. In the end, the everything is placed by an the Old Man, who seems to have a god like role in the creation and placement of the universe. But at first, the characters seem to be much more human like where they live in a house together, although I'm not sure why there's a house in all of the blankness the story describes. I'm also not sure where the Old Man came from, because he wasn't mentioned as one of the exceptions to the nothingness in the beginning as the other characters were.

(Thompson River, photo by A. Bowden)

The Other Story I liked was the Burning World. It reminded me a lot of Noah's ark, except fire instead of water. Similarly to the Noah story, very few people (besides the man's mother and sister) believed him that the world would burn. I thought it was very interesting how in the story, the animals seem to want to switch roles with each other and the man has to straighten out their role in the ecosystem. This part of the story reminded me of Adam in the Garden of Eden. Only this story was much more entertaining. I loved how the animals tried to convince him that they should be something else. My favorite was how the rabbit jumped into the water to try and be like the beaver.

"Fire" Source: Wikimedia

Week 9: Fire Thieves (Storytelling)

My sister and I sat by the warm fire in our hut. I could hear the wind whipping outside. A smiled when I thought of the chill that would surround all of the nearby tribe. Unlike us they were without fire. We’d taken it.

My sister and I had lived in peace for many years with our husbands. But one day, a new tribe came onto our land. We welcomed them to visit. We gave them food and water after their long journey to our home. As they explored our land the following days, they decided it was more bountiful than theirs. And they had a tribe of thirty, while our group was just four.

When I shut my eyes, I could still see my husband yelling at them to leave us alone. That it was our land, but they were welcome to share a part of it. I can’t untangle that memory from the memory of the blood.  They let my sister and I live.

While I was always pretty, my sister was clever. She asked the gods for help, and they did. They taught her how to capture fire. Now fire was ours. It still wasn’t the retribution we wanted for our husbands’ deaths, but it was a small consolation prize to know they were living off of our land, but freezing and unable to cook.

I sat at the fire one night, as my sister was collecting water to boil, when a coyote approached. My sister had warned me about coyotes. The gods had granted them deception and cleverness. But I was a human, the coyote wouldn't outsmart me.

“It’s quite cold out,” the coyote said, while eyeing our fire.  

I studied him for a moment before responding. “Yes. It is. We stole the fire from the tribe to the North. But we have no hatred for you. You should warm yourself by the fire, Coyote.” He pranced in, thanking me repeatedly. He laid down across from where I sat in our hut. We talked a bit about the weather. I had never met a coyote before, but this one was very funny and insightful.

Soon my sister returned from her water and wood run. She stopped suddenly when she saw the coyote laying by the crackling flames. “What is this?” she asked.

“Sister, this is Coyote. He was cold. He isn't a part of the tribe who wronged us, so I let him in.” My sister’s gaze flitted between the coyote and me. My sister said nothing for the rest of the night and neither did Coyote. I fell asleep a little while later. The two were still staring at each other as I drifted off.

The next morning Coyote left. I was sad to see him go, but my sister seemed relieved.  But to my surprise, the next night he returned with the same request. I invited him in once again, as my sister nervously began watching the Coyote again.

But then, I began hearing rustling and crunching outside. Before I knew what was happening, a man from the Northern tribe rushed into our hut. As quick as lightning, Coyote grabbed a stick from the fire in his mouth and took off running. My sister and I ran outside after the Coyote and the man, but by then we could see the fire disappearing into the distance. 

(Coyote, by Larry1732)

Author's note: The original story was called The Theft of Fire. The story was about two women who stole fire from a neighboring tribe, and a coyote who helps the tribe retrieve the fire. I made one of the women the Point of View character and I gave her more of a back story, along with the other woman I made her sister. While the back story is all made up, I thought that they should be a little more sympathetic than the original story, because they did let the Coyote share the fire two nights in a role. 

Week 9: California and the Old Southwest (Reading Diary)

For the California and the Old Southwest reading unit, click here.

For part A my favorite stories were The Creation of Man and the Creation of Mankind and the Flood.

The Creation of Man was unlike any creation story I had ever heard, but I felt as though it showed a lot of natural human tendencies through the animals of the story. This story was from the Minwok people from California. It was a story which took place after Coyote created the world (which I think is interesting in itself that there isn't a divine being, but an animal creator). I thought it was very interesting how the animals together consciously decided to create man. Also, how they went about doing it was very unique. With the animals forming a type of council to decide what humans should look like, with the animals basically ranked according to hierarchy around the circle was fascinating. I think that the ideas for man's appearance by the animals revealed human nature, in that we often think the people in charge should look, act, and think as we do. It was only coyote, who was the most clever, who could think outside of himself to create a superior being that didn't look as he, or any other animal did. I thought this was a very unique story.

(Coyote)

The second story I liked from the first section was the creation of mankind and the flood. Unlike the first story, this story was from the Pima tribe in Arizona. One reason I found this, and the other flood story in the unit, is the similarities cross culturally, around the world of flood stories. In this story the flood is caused because of a competition to rule the world, between Earth Doctor, Coyote, and Elder Brother. In Greek and Roman religions, which I have taken a couple classes over, there are also worldwide flood stories, as well as in Christianity, Mesopotamian and Babylonian cultures. I find it very interesting that total earth destroying/purifying flood stories are found in so many religions and cultures around the world. 

"The Deluge" By John Martin Wikimedia

For part B, my favorite stories were Coyote's Eyes and The Children of the Cloud.

I thought the story about the Coyote's eyes was bizarre but intriguing. The last thing I was expecting when the coyote asked the bird about his beauty, was for the bird to take out his own eyes, throw them in the air, then call them back down into his head, at which time they would be cleaned. Then the coyote deciding to do this multiple times was also weird but interesting, so he could get his eyes as clear as he could. But then, when the eyes didn't come back down, I was also shocked when instead of finding the coyote's eyes the bird just made him yellow eyes out of pinon tree gum, which are still what coyote's ares are according to the story. It was definitely a unique and unusual myth about the often-featured coyotes. 

(Coyote, by Larry1732)

I also thought the Children of the Cloud story was very unique and interesting. Unlike, say demigods, the children in this story seem to be the children of a human woman and a primordial force which sort of has a human life and appearance. I was never quite sure what to think about Uncle Wind and Father Cloud. I thought it was interesting that he insisted on testing the boys more than once. I'm pretty sure normal children can't usually create thunder and lightning at will, so I didn't understand why Cloud needed further proof of their paternity, nor how them not drowning proved they were part cloud. But these types of stories are meant to be taken at face value, so I know I'm reading too much into them, but those were my main thoughts about this story. 

"Dreamy Twilight" by Jessie Eastland. Wikimedia

Google Site-Specific Searches

For this tech tip, I searched the classical section of the sacred-text websites for the Greek goddess Athena. To go to the search, click here. The results for this search came up with a lot of interesting finds.

The first result was from a 1928 book by Jane Harrison. This described Athena using different pieces of Greek literature. Another link that came up in my search that I especially liked was the ancient Greek play, Ajax by Sophocles. In this play Athena is one of the main characters.

It was interesting to see the wide variety of articles and writings that were easily available by using the site specific search.

Week 8: Reading Diary Assesment

For my reading diaries, I've always always used the same format. First, directly after I've finished reading a story (or a section of a story if they are multiple pages) I type up a quick summary of the story just for my own records, which doesn't end up published. Then after each half of the readings I write an analysis of two or three of my favorite stories. I do the same thing after the second half.

It helps me to have both, the summaries for each story and the in depth look at a a few of the stories in the unit. I've found the short summaries help a lot when I'm deciding what story to rewrite for the storytelling assignment as well as the essay if I review the readings. I also try to write a sentence in my summary if there is something about the story that I want to mention in the reading review survey.

I also like having the deeper reviews for the few stories that I particularly like in each reading, which is what I end publish. Especially for the units which have twenty or more short stories, you don't have time to think about each of them deeply and critically. Without the instructions on the Reading Diary assignment saying to focus on your favorites, I wouldn't have done this. However, I feel like I get a much better understanding of the stories that I talk about in the reading diaries.

With my reading diary posts, I always try to include one picture from each story I talk about. This isn't as helpful when the stories aren't from an illustrated book, but it still helps me remember what a main part of the story was. Where there is an illustration from a book that the story comes from, the picture is very helpful in remembering more of the details of the story which the picture depicts. I think having pictures in my posts helps a lot by breaking up the information. That is why I add the picture directly after I finish talking about one specific story.

Looking back, I do think me reading diary posts are helpful, but they are most helpful when I also look at my short summaries/notes from every story.  I think that gives the analysis that I publish more context. Overall, I think the reading diary is very helpful. I think the combination of a short summary for myself and deeper exploration of a few of the stories for a blog post helps me a lot when keeping track of past readings.

Resize Tech Tip

This week I did the used picmonkey to resize and edit an image. I just looked up sunset pictures that were large and were available for public use. This was my favorite picture that I found.

"Sunset Reeds, North Shore Port Lincoln, South Australia" by Jacopo Werther. Wikimedia

Week 7: Wishes and Flights (Storytelling)

I was walking through my village when I saw him. He limped a little, but there was no noticeable wound. Maybe it was for sympathy or maybe he was actually hurt. He stopped by every food stand, asking for food. More than once I heard him promise that he would forever remember their kindness.

Yeah right. People think they have long memories, but have you ever asked somewhat what they had for lunch a couple days before? Unless they are the kind of people who eat the same thing every day, you will be waiting a long time for an answer while the retrace everything they did that day. That’s assuming you ever get an answer.

I began walking towards this man. Between the limp, his tattered clothes, and the desperate look in his eye, he obviously was in need. I stopped him while he was between food stands. He held one apple in his hand, half of it rotten. So far that was all he had managed to scrape up.

I put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention. Once he turned my way I said, “Excuse me. What have you been saying when you ask for food?”

The desperate look didn’t disappear, but this brown eyes flitted up and down me, talking in my long grey cloak and hat. “I said that if anyone gives me all the food I need, I would never forget that person’s generosity.” He looked like he meant it, but I have always been the type of person who is skeptical.

“Lots of people make lots of promises. Most are ungrateful and never keep them.”

A sort of defiance entered his eyes now. I shouldn’t be surprised. To him it was probably like I was questioning his honor. “I would keep my vow. I will never forget and I will be indebted to that person.” The man pulled away and began walking on. I decided I would show him how ungrateful most people are.

There was a dog a few steps down from the man, then a buffalo a few more paces away. I mumbled a string of incantations towards at the old dog and buffalo. When the man neared the dog, the dog began talking to him. The man briefly looked shocked but didn’t seem too concerned about the fact a dog was talking to him. That was disappointing. Usually when I make animals talk I get more entertainment from their first reaction.

Watched from a short distance as the dog told the man of his ungrateful masters and how they wouldn’t feed him anymore since the dog could no longer work. The poor man assured the dog that he wouldn’t be so careless and continued on his way. Next the buffalo came up to the man.

This time the man didn’t seem at all shocked when the animal began talking. Seriously, how many time had other wizards made animals talk in front of this guy? This wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. By the time I got over my disappointment, the buffalo was telling the man about how his owners had ran him off when he couldn’t work anymore. Once again the man assured the animal that he would never be so ungrateful.

Maybe this man really was a kind hearted person. I rushed after him, my long white beard fluttering in the wind. I stopped him. “Will you really be grateful and remember who helped you?” I asked him again.

“Of course I will.”

I reached into my pocket to find the gems. After some digging I found them. He looked at me suspiciously, as I showed him the two gems in my hand. If I was going to help him, I wanted to see if he really would be grateful for what he was given.

“This gem,” I said, holding up the red one, between my fingertips, “this gem will give you anything you desire when you hold it in your mouth and make a wish.” The man’s eyes widened and he stared incredulously at the gem. “And this one,” I switched the red gem for the blue. “This one will make you fly if you hold it in your mouth.”

The man continued to look at me in disbelief, mixed with longing. I slowly handed him the second gem as he began stuttering, but soon his thoughts organized themselves a bit. “Thank you, sir! Thank you so much! I will never forget this. If you every need anything I will help you! You are so kind! I’ll pray for your life to be blessed in every way possible.”

The man hurried off home. I stood, watching him go. I hoped he was as grateful as he sounded. I’m sure I would find out soon.

And I did. Three days later, I looked out my window and I saw the man walking towards my house. He was dressed in the finest clothes. He had put on weight and his limp was nonexistent. In his hand he held a knife. Behind him was another man with an ax.

I guess I had my answer. I walked outside and greeted him. “Why didn't you come to see me sooner? I would have loved to see your fancy new clothes.”

“I was busy,” He said roughly, lifting is knife towards my neck. “Give us the other jewel or we will kill you.”

These men’s minds were clouded with desire. Mine was clear. “Okay, but do you have the wishing gem? I’d like to see it one last time.” The man lowered his knife and reached into his pocket. Meanwhile I popped the blue gem into my mouth. When he opened his hand, the jewel laid inside. 

But I was already floating a foot in the air. I snatched the red gem from his hand and before he knew what happened I was thirty feet up. 

Can Cau Market by Arian Zwegers Wikimedia

Author's Note: The original story was called the Wizard and the Beggar. A beggar is confronted by a wizard and then animals about if he would keep his promise to be grateful if someone gave him all he needs. The wizard eventually helps him but the man then is unsatisfied and tries to kill the wizard for more. For my story I made the story from the Wizard's point of view and then I made him be the one who made the animals talk.