Jackie- A Short Story

If can’t already guess by the title, this post will be about a story of mine.


A retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk!

Kicking rocks along the street, boots worn, and short ginger colored hair-this is the outward look of a girl with many secrets, most of which she doesn’t even know.

Jackie is a rough seventeen year old girl, hardened by the loss of her parents. Today is the ceremony of the Storytelling of Jack, a warrior who protected her quaint village from an aggressive giant. Every year the once poor orphaned boy is celebrated for his achievements. Jackie looks on to Jack for inspiration, and dreams to climb up the Beanstalk just like him. But she can’t. Or at least, not without some help.

Magic flowing to the tips of her fingers, huddled over a leather notebook, scrambling with a ink pen is the Giant, so far in the sky. She sits on her cloud, sighing as she nostalgically feels something she cannot remember. It’s fluid like soothing water, but passionately burning like fire at same time, a magic she can’t even begin to place. The memories are so palpable, yet so far away—a still emptiness.

Who will fill the void in her heart?

(I know, it’s corny)


Giant’s POV

-Have you ever seen a giant climb down a beanstalk? No? Well, this is what I did that night… so long ago.

Found one.

The little girl scuttled away, racing through the fields, her feet making these soft taps in the dirt. The dust billowed upon my face, as I stifled a cough, hoping desperately that she did not hear me in the still sound of the night. Choo! I sniffled. Not apprehending my presence, the adolescent ran off into the village, wearing a mask of urgency and with a slight crook in her thick eyebrows displaying swallowed, compressed fear.

I crawled through the forest of trees, my giant monstrous body causing them to rattle. Leaves crunched under my hands as I hastily tried to maneuver myself, every move a hideous crash. A few paces later, I perked up, surveying a villa. It was small, quaint, with wind slipping through the cracks of sleeping huts. Then I saw her. A blast of red, then the lock of the door. Click!

Circling around the suburb, I restlessly settled myself down near the home the adolescent sneakily slid into. I looked through a window, eager for the story I was about to unravel. The girl’s eyes were wide as she flinched at each minuscule squeak. I folded my fingers together, tight, as my eager thoughts flipped to dread, waiting for what was to come next for the poor girl.

She trudged down the hall, as my curiosity went along with her, my vision darting towards the next window, inside a kitchen. The teenager was haphazardly throwing damaged pieces of silverware, opening wooden cupboards and loudly calling for someone. Seamlessly, her tension softened into concern which, of course, quickly fastened into worry.

-Humans have crazy emotions.

Her ragged breath blew in and out, fixing itself with the rhythm that the house was bouncing along with the thumps of my heart. Ta-dum, ta-dum, tad-dum. It was the only constant thing among the chaos of her crashing, clashing and screams.

“Mother!” The call was adamant.


Immediately, like lighting, the girl’s boots clunked up the steps. With my curiosity on full blast, I grabbed the top of the house, pulling my face closer, almost so the very tip of my nose touched the window. This one uncovered a bedroom and an older woman sleeping peacefully. I hope her daughter doesn’t disrupt her calm tranquil dreams. I swiped a quiet , calculating finger across the window, feeling the texture of smooth glass. It was new to me— I never had felt it before.

Then a red swish flew through the door. The girl, I thought, recalling when I saw the red haired teenager enter the hut. Her cheeks were red, her hair matted with sweat, as she climbed onto the bed. She whispered something, something I couldn’t hear from the outside, so without weighing the consequences, I pressed my ear against the wall. Warningly, the house wobbled, dirt and planks falling from the roof. The girl fell on her napping mother, somehow failing to wake her up, but didn’t even gaze in my direction. Thank goodness. My shoulders fell, as I blew a gust of air from my lips, fogging up the window.

A shrieking cry emanated from the room, an incredible, incoherent cry that shook me from my head to my toes. Tinglings of the shriek vibrated in my mind, as I wiped the fog off the window, slowly unclothing the scene, my eyes progressively dilating, my brows folded in disbelief. I gasped, my fingers fanning in front of my “o” of a mouth.

The mother’s chest was scarlet with blood, a knife glinting from the wound. The mother’s blanket was thrown to the floor, and with that a terrifying secret.

-Don’t ever ask me to describe “death” of those creatures.

I ran away. Up the Beanstalk, in the middle of the town. Giant goblets of water drooped along my long, narrow face, flicking themselves off my jaw, wetting my hair and chest. I clutched at my breasts, thankful that I still have mine. Remorsefully, I took one last look of the village. It was so beautiful, with eerie hidden horrors lurking inside, a world of stars never seen above the clouds. I was so sorry that I had to leave so soon.

A early rising lumberjack yakked at my appearance. He withdrew his axe,  quickening my departure.


So… that’s my story! If you want to check out more of it, the story is on Wattpad too. I hope you guys will like it!





An Announcement

Greetings dear nonexistent readers,

I am sorry to inform you that due to the fact that Spinette and I have lives outside of the bloggo-sphere (shocking, I know), we will have to form a schedule instead of posting every single day.

We will have our normal posts on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays and on Sundays, we will continue to have Mellow Yellow episodes. All the posts will be posted at 3:00 pm Eastern Time, as usual.

But fear not, dear nonexistent reader, for you can read our older posts that you may have missed or forgotten on the days that we are not present. We have archives at the bottom of our homepage. I’ve also added a calendar there.

Mutual dissent is appreciated.