Fairytales of a slightly insane nature

I really wanna publish stuff but I just find it so god damn hard to finish something as long as a novel and to be honest I'm not too fond of the novel as literature. Recently I've begun to write fairytale-like short stories and I'm now planning on writing a bunch and maybe compiling them all together or publish them in magazines. I would really like some creative feedback and criticism so I'm gonna post the stories here and see how people like them...

 

looking forward to it

 

Tales of two brothers

Once upon a time there was two borthers who, living on a farm together, dispised each other. When one of them put out milk to ferment into cheese the other would take it and turn it into yoghurt. When one of them placed harvest apples in a basket so as to produce cider the other would seize it and make pie. And so the arguments and shouting would run day and night about the pro's and con's of cider and cheese and whipped cream and stewed onions and piclked sprout, which could be heard over the whole of the entire parish.

One day it became one shout too many for the neighbours that grew tired of the incessant struggling between the two brothers who were being accused of frightening the children and giving the cattle indigestion. And so it was decided upon an anomous vote in the town council meeting that the brothers'farm was to be divide in two by a canal and so each of them could bloody well mind his own pickled yoghurt.

Now the canal didn't nothing to prevent the brtohers disputes become louder and more freqeuent, for there was then the issue of the ownership of the sheep, and who would get the goat milk, and where would you expect the cows to grze with this god damn canal eating up the field? The people of the parish had had enough, now blaming the brothers'constant arguing for spoiling the crop, scaring off game and encouraging children to use words that were not fit for a respectable Christian community.

But how would one go about laying down such a hard law? As there were no advice in dealing with brothers ruining the peace of the land in the ancient books of town law, and none of the Elders were in the least bit concerned with the whole affair (most of them were deaf), and tying rocks to people's feet to see fi they would float (suggested by two of the Elders) was considered immoral in these modern days - well, at the very least there was God.

And so the brothers were ordered to sacrifice a chicken each. The one who's fire burned the most was obviously more fit in the eyes of the Lord to run a quiet, peaceful and child-friendly establishment. The other one would just have to bugger off.

Now both brother's were cunning if not a little bit scrupulous, each secretly bringing a bottle of kerosene with them to the sacrifical burning, Deaftly and without anyone noticing both brothers poured the entire content of upon the two fires. What a blaze rose from the wood, singing eyebrows for meters around. The flames ggrew and grew until they caught hold of the roofing of a the poultry shed and soon the brothers' farm was a myriad of red and yellow and orange. The canal, which had soaked the ground and turned the earth underneath into marsh, ate up the last bits of embers and burning ashes and the next day one would have hardly guessed that a farm had been there on that black smouldering pit at the outskirts of town which was a few years later turned into a school for undisciplined and rogue children.

The brothers knew never again to argue amongst themselves and the town people went home and told their children never to fight, swear or play with fire or they might one day find themselves burnt and without a house, like those two poor foolish brothers who knew not how to be responsible. And so in this way everyone learned something from the whole affair.

 

Grass and Straw

Once upon a time there was a girl who went to the beach every day. pretending she was a witch conjuring spells and manipulating the world through her magical hands. One dark night when she was pulling up grass leaves from the sand dunes, she thought what lovely drinking straws could be made, which could be used in her parents icecream van. The previous afternoon some child had purposefully stuck an actual pink-and-yellow stripped straw amongst the grass. The girl picked up the straw thinking it to be yet another leaf on the dark beach.

"Why, I've turned grass into an actual drinking straw!"

She ran home and presented the straw to her parents who accepted it in humoured gracefullness.

"Thank you my little sorceress, why, with you around we shall never have to buy a single straw as long as we live!"

Now the child who had put the straw into the sand was disappointed to find it gone the following afternoon and so stuck a new one into the very same place. The girl was concidentally walking about the exact same spot once more come nightfall, although she knew this not as it was dark. She had attempted since sunset to turn leaves of grass into straws, and just as she had accepted her magicless hands - there again was a straw in her hand! So it did work and she was indeed a real witch, albeit a young one who had yet to practice and harnish her skills.

The girl came back every single night afterwards and by pure utter coincidence the same child that put straws into the sand came back to the very same spot every afternoon, placing yet a new straw into the soft sand where the girl, after many hours of concentration, managed to release her powers.

This loop of events went on for many, many years, and every afternoon and night the same coincidence would play out. Me, the omnipresent narrator, and you, the all-knowing reader, know of course the truth - that the girl and her straws were not in the least bit magical being simply the innocent and unwitting players in this daily arrangement of chance that aged along with the girl and the child till they were old enough to marry off their offspring. And without a miss the coincidence was played out in perefect synchronisity, creating the impression of a repetitive, self-perpetuating cycle of transformation and returning. But of course me and you, my faithful reader, know that all of this was no more mystical or magical than the repetitive cycle of day and night, where inbetween this highly implausible concidence would bind the girl and the child together, neither of which would ever learn of the other's existence.

The girl would forever believe herself capable of magic, which the strange coincidence turned into emperical fact to her every day on the beach as she drew up a straw, placed by the child who was just bored and had a father who worked in a straw-factory. The girl grew up a happy and talented individual inspired, by her time-demanding power, never to give up and keep faith in herself - a lesson she learned so early in life that she transformed into a hardworking woman, striving to motivate and aid wherever she could. By this token she eventually became a famous surgeon, known throughout the world as a healer of wounds as well as souls.

"You know, the faith you can plant inside yourself is powerful enough to turn leaves of grass into straws!" she would greet her waking patients.

How a coincidence could turn a leaf into a straw and turn a girl into a surgeon is best described as 'peculiar', which some may insist could be called pure magic - if only they knew what merry laughter they would stir.

 

The Puppet Master's Balls

A girl sat her life to that of a journey far and wide. But as she took the world bit by bit it dawned on her more and more, from dawn to dawn, that taking the world did not mean steering it. She wanted the steering wheel for she was a woman lusting for control.

One beautifully vain dawn she met on the journey, on which she had set her life, in the world she lusted to control, a Chinese merchant. The long-coated, snake-moustached tradesman sold everything from exotic seasonings to hexful curses, for he had long ago ended the worldly life-journey and now sought its profits.

"A miracle tool for me to control the world! This and nothing less," the girl demanded, offering all her gold and her body as payment, for she was indeed lusting for control and considered no price too high.

These Chinese merchant conjured from deep within his long-coated hide a tiny bottle filled with miniscule balls of bright-shaded colours. He, a shrewd dealer, said, "Though your gold is precious and your form exceptionally enticing, it is your soul I want in repayment. This and nothing more."

"Yes. Anything! No price is too high." She was indeed lusting for control of the world she was journeying through.

"Then perceive this bottle. It stores balls fused with the power to hold sway over any man or woman's mood, emotion and temperament. With these balls you may control the world. Your influence will be omnipresent wherever you go."

"I'll take it then," the girl said without hesitation and gave her soul in exchange for the bottle.

"Each ball holds its own undeniable heart-beating, mind-felt state," the Chinese merchant instructed her. "Hold one between your fingers, these fingers that will soon control the world, and look at whomsoever you wish to be struck by your undeniable heart-controlling, mind-steering will." And with these last words uttered the merchant, one soul richer, bade her farewell.

The girl journeyed onwards, certain of her bottle's power and the omnipresent influence it would deliver her. She ventured far and wide in the world she now saw under her control. And never again did she feel uncertainty, fear or angst, for her omnipresent influence was undeniable.

She quickly learned each ball's affluent powers and used them to control the world between her fingers. Out of spite, compassion, jealousy or kindness she would steer minds by controlling the heart of every man and woman she met. She would pull lovers apart so as to enjoy nights of physical pleasure more passionate than any poet could hope to paint. She would bring about friendships out of nowhere so as to enjoy scenarios of benevolent comradeships. She would pit armies against each other on a whim just to see who would win. She would make one wealthy lord a street-beggar by making him give up all his possessions to another. And the girl was indeed satisfied, for the world was her theatre, a universal steering wheel between her fingers. She desired nothing more. Soulless bodies however do not themselves possess any entitlement to moods, emotions or temperaments, as the girl soon discovered. Although she was satisfied she could neither conceive nor project any feeling from her own mind, the beats of her heart hollow as a log.

"Never mind! This is a small price to pay for my omnipresent mind-hearted influence," she would loudly convince herself. "The world is my playground, nay, my puppet-show and I the puppet master. This I want and nothing less."

But as the months became years, and the girl was still confined to a humour-lacking existence as the world's puppet-master, she grew weary. And bit by bit she realised the weight of the exchange she had accepted. For no amount of control, no degree of puppeteering, brought the girl any soulful feelings in her mind-beating heart. Satisfaction was her only companion, the emotional mood of the idle temperament that she came to loath more and more.

Then she came to the end of her worldly adventures, the road she had set her life upon stretching no more in any unknown distances. She had travelled far and wide and she had seen all there was to see. There was no forest she had not roamed, no city unthreaded by her feet, no mountain peeks unseen by her gaze, no ocean she had not sailed. She stood by the completion of her journey of her life and no degree or amount of mind-beating on her heart could make her feel anything but satisfied. This and nothing less, this and nothing more. She arduously attempted to cry tears, for her vanity, for her loneliness and her soulless omnipresent puppeteering powers she mastered over every man and woman she had met.

A full rich life, vast with wonders, miracles and adventures had been bestowed upon her and she was not even aged beyond youth, her cheeks still red, her eyes projecting more of a girl's unquenchable determination than a woman's undeniable strength. But alas, no tears were bestowed upon her eyes that, no longer with any wondrous adventures to perceive, grew as idle as her miraculous bottle had made of her heart, mind, temperament, indeed all of her existence that was feeling naught but satisfaction. No anguish, no joy she felt. No fear, no laughter grew on her. No sense of guilt or affection gave away inside of her. Not even such basic impulses of all living beings as sadness and happiness could she provide herself. For all these, and all things beating in our minds and felt in our hearts, are the gifts and curses of the soul and no one can accept one without the other.

This dawned on the girl, not bit by bit, but as hard and sudden as a lighting bolt, as striking as her own powers over the puppets she had steered throughout the worldly road that had been her life-journey.

"Oh, take this miraculous curse off me, if only for one day, so that I can by the very least feel regret over my own foolishness," she exclaimed, but no one could comfort or advice her, for all, every man and woman, were her puppets. All were under her omnipresence and so could present her with no degree of omniscient wisdom. The only thing more powerful than her will was her sudden revelating wisdom that served only to remind her of the loss of her vainfully lusting soul she now missed so dearly.

She, confined to nothing and everything but infinite idle satisfaction, sought far and wide for the Chinese merchant who had sold her the cursed undeniable influence of her omnipresent soullessness. She sought under mountains and over valleys, through barren deserts and vast jungles. Finally she caught sight of his long-coated appearance atop of the Himalayas, the very roof of the world she had journeyed through as she spoiled her authority with the magic balls.

"I see you have finished the road of life," the Chinese merchant said, bowing his head in respect.

"Yes, a satisfied life indeed, but nothing more, nothing less. A hollow, empty, pointless life. With no soul I have felt nothing but idleness in my heart and mind. Take off this world-controlling miracle of a bottle. These balls of puppet-mastering influence are a curse as much as they are a gift, but I would rather bestow upon my existence the curse and gift of my own soul. A million cascading beats of pain and tears and misery are worth all the potential joy and excitement and affection I could obtain. I want to lust for things again, cry in remorse, sigh to my vanity and laugh in compassionate moments to the beating rhythm of my soul, for it to vibrate through my heart and mind once again."

The shrewd businessman shook his head, his thin hair and snake-moustache flailing in the cold Himalayan wind.

"A deal is a deal, and I give no returns. Your soul is mine and shall stay mine and I shall take it with me to my death and beyond to the next road of other-worldly journeys."

"Then I shall take it from you wretched man!" The girl seized a violet ball from the bottle, which held within it all the fearful sentiments of the soul, rolling it between her fingers and affixed her attaching gaze upon the Chinaman's long-coated appearance, expecting him any second to run away in howling insanity.

To her wonder, as hard-striking as had been her wisdom in the face of a soulless existence, the merchant stood as still as before, his disposition not influenced in any seeming fashion, indeed he even broke into a humoured smile.

"How can this be?" the girl howled. "Surely you must be the devil, nay, God himself, to resist so calmly the very terrors of your own soul."

"I am neither," the Chinaman replied, now laughing a loud, soft laughter that echoed off the cliff upon which they were standing, down into the world below. "I am but a passionately greedy soul."

"But if you are but a soul, how then can you resist the undeniable beats of it?

Does it not scorch through your mind and cripple your heart?"

"Indeed. I feel scorched and crippled in both at this very moment. But I have no compulsion to project my fear."

"Then you must be a warlock, surely the mightiest of all."

Again the Chinaman shook his head, still smiling.

"I am neither God nor warlock. I am but a passionately greedy soul, but such a soul that long time ago was struck by the same revelating wisdom as you. Did you not think I attempted the bottle's omnipresent influence, over every man and woman I met, for myself? I too bought it in exchange for my soul and I too was blessed and cursed with the wisdom you now have in your possession, forever till your death and beyond, unto the next road and those after."

"So then how can you be at one with your soul once more?" the girl asked.

"It was given back to me as I shall give your vainfully lusting soul back onto you, provided you can answer me this - if I was to give back to you your soul how would you feel?"

"Joy and regretful, ecstatic and terrified, but most of all grateful, oh how grateful, to the heavens for these rhythmic beats and feelings of the heart, mind and soul."

To that the merchant applauded her words and laughed even louder than before.

"That was my exact reply. You have truly earned back your soul. Here it is! May you be grateful indeed, for that, my friend, is the way, not to control the world, which brings nothing but hollow satisfaction, but to control yourself. Thus you can endure anything that befalls your soul with the strength that lies within you, has always rested within you, but that you never saw, blinded by the want for dominance over the world around you."

And the girl felt her soul once more, and felt emotionally charged, and temperamental moods scorched through her heart and mind. Fear, pain, joy, pleasure, all that can be felt, all of it she felt at once, nothing more and nothing less, in its blissful horror.

First the girl wept. Then she laughed. Then she wanted to scream, and then she felt like bursting with madly laughter. Then to sing and dance and joke. But none of it did she wish to project. Instead she loudly proclaimed, "I thank my soul for its pains and its pleasures, without which I would be nothing but a hollow log. I thank the heavens for being alive in this despairingly beautiful life, and I wish that my soul will beat to the rhythms of my love and fear till the day I die, and must go to new adventures upon the other-worldly roads."

Then the girl was overcome with such burning lust that she seized the tradesman and made love to him, there on the roof of this world, to the beating rhythms of her entire existence. So hard did she love him that the snow melted and fell off the mountain peek, and grass began to grow around them. And so the girl kept lustfully beating every man and woman she met, whipped by her despairing fear and terrified angst, till the day she died and left for the adventures that lie in wait for us beyond this beautifully painful world.

 

your writing style is extremely bulky and superfluous, try and be more succinct.

"Now the canal didn't nothing to prevent the brtohers disputes become louder and more freqeuent"

didn't = did? or remove "nothing to"?