Jackie Part 3

The Giant’s P.O.V.

Oh! I peered through the eye-spot, watching a girl with a certain interest, It’s her.

“Jackie.” The word played with my tongue. I decided I liked the name, much how I appreciate the light pink flowers and the blooming scents around me. Red hair was how I remembered her, a short flash of red down to her shoulders, followed by a white shirt and overalls that had a rough texture to them, as I scanned my way down. She was a bit taller than when I encountered her last, with bread crumbs freckling her already dotted cheeks. Bored, she was throwing the last of her bread crumbs into a fire, finished with her morning meal.

The eye spot seemed to open from the chimney, in a bird’s eye view, wonderfully convenient, for this was the first time it had opened upon the girl. Particularly, I’ve been interested in her for many years, after her incident. It was amazing how humans could still stand after such crisis and problems for being such a small race. I knew for sure it was her— after all, who else could have such a rosy red appearance?

In my stalking, I heard the odd sound of lost magic: a whimsical whimper of waterfalling energy. Blue rays of light drip dropped, from my fingertips into the cloudy floor which I rested on everyday. The magic flickered under the egg white of the clouds like underground lighting.

“Am I doing too much?” I asked, frightened, staring into the waves of angry flowers. I was being too selfish again, keeping my magic from their leaves. It was better to share with others.

Their scent overtook my senses, the thick vanilla coating my lips, branching out slowly as the vines flew out towards me. They hastily grew over my figure, restraining any further action. The once peaceful set of vines quickly buckled into me, harsh thorns piercing into my skin and bone. The sensation tickled, like tiny monsters. Pain whittled in all parts of my body.

Thump! I flopped over, power draining from my consciousness, clouds bouncing upward with my descent. With panic, I scoured my cloud, overgrown with stringy green vines, blushing blurbs of blooming and budding flowers, in a sprawling spiral pattern. All suctioning my power away, ready to get me.

“Sorry.” I let my magic flow out, tending to my garden.

The vines edged away, flowers fluttering back to their sprawling legged arrangement, colors vibrant against the blank puffy cloudscape. Everything was back to normal again as if nothing had ever happened. Except for the low whistles of the blue light aggressively pumping itself back into the flowers again. A warning. Grumpily, I took a patch of the overgrowth and pushed it in my mouth, slurping it down so the awful somewhat bittersweet taste couldn’t reach my tastebuds. Vines dangled, flowers fell at my distasteful chews, and I crossed my arms, my face swelling in anger.

-By watching the antics of humans I have seemed to adopt some traits.

Magic was what kept me alive, along with the plants in the jungle like meadow—but sometimes I took too much for myself. It had so much more capabilities than just simple nutrition, such as using the middle of a flower as a telescope to watch people go by.

“Please…” I put my hands together like a begging human , “Today is a day that people congregate around for the Storytelling of Jack, and I really want to see!” I let a part of my hair fall on my blue skinned complexion, sighing. The vines hadn’t even moved in response!

“Please?” My eyes bubbled up. They loosened—however slightly, in approval. That was a good answer for me!

Blue light coursed through my body, from the very ends of my frayed white hair to the pear shape of my hips, manifested in a pleasurable moan. My hands cascaded down the bump of my neck, energy satisfyingly quenching my dry throat after the short absence of magical waves. Glowing bright, my eyes transformed into a new, ambitious shade of blue.

Feeling a breeze of relief, I gently grabbed another flower, caressing its petals. It glowed with blue light, the light drawing blue lines upon them. My thumb brushed its yellow center, dashing it with a bit of magic. Slowly, the flower telescope opened up, this time from a flower’s perspective, low down on the beanstalk.

Her back faced me, letting me take in all the mystical bits of her springy red hair, small natural ringlets formed towards the bottom. As red as ever. For some reason the thought made me want to find out more. I love the color red, fiery, ambitious, frightful, fierce, passionate… the list goes on and on. Of course, I just had to be blue! I gazed down at my knees, dark blue in its pigment and my hair also a lighter, but equally blue shade.

From behind Jackie’s figure, I saw a tiny boy. Who was this? My interest rocketed to him, his stubborn nose and a mischievous smile, strings of brown emerging from his head. And what did he want from Jackie? He appeared to be holding her hand and was certainly out of breath, huffing and puffing.

Fortunately, Jackie seemed to be in her own world, nostrils widening, (We have all heard “eyes widening” before! Why not give it a change?) to smell the scent of vanilla, whirling in the air. She enjoyed my scent! Following her nose, she ended up staring into my eyes hypnotically, through the eyespot, ready to catch a fresh whiff.

I scrambled back, a flustered blush swaying on my cheeks. Magic, having its repercussions, blasted from my fingers to the flower I was using as a telescope. Boom! It exploded, yellow pollen and seeds blanketing my bosom, as chaotic vines grew up from there. In panic, I frantically tore out the crazy plants, trying to minimize the magic I recently reloaded myself with.

Magic does two things: it either reacts with magic quickly and easily, or reacts with normal items slowly and with hard spells. – a note taken from the Witch’s Handbook.

As I tore at the flowers, more and more grew in an endless cycle, the overwhelming scent that I used to love burning the insides of my nose. They continued growing, vines swiftly edging up my torso. If I didn’t do something quickly, the plants would encase me! I shuddered at that thought, gagging at the smell as a barricade of flowers bloomed above my chest.

“Stop!” I giggled, a single leaf tickling my belly button, “Stop it!” My giggles escalated to painful stomach hollers, “hWOoo… If you don’t stop?” I was getting drunk on the scent— that’s what I get, I guess, for making such a simple mistake. They climbed up further, into strands of my hair, and circling around my neck. Everything was turning foggy, pink blobs of flowers fluttering in my face like lethal butterflies, with delusions intoxicating my mind, painting it with ink.

“STOP!” A ragged yell pranced from the corners of my mouth.

BOOM! Magic roared from up above. BANG! BOOSH!

The flowers stopped growing, doused in an infinite amount of magic. Even the cloud seemed to be exhausted from my explosion. I was out of breath, holding onto everything I could manage to grasp, every part of my body pulsing with pain, my eyes hurting the most, now dulled of their once vibrant color.  Naughtily, I gave a tired smirk, thinking, It’s all okay! If I could just…

I blacked out.

Part 1

Part 2

-Spinette Spyder

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Jackie Part 2

Part 1


Jackie’s POV ~~~ 4 years later

I took a crumb of bread, threw it in the fire and watched it burn. Between bites, I saw the fire dance, tendrils of the flames swirling around the scraps of wood. The smoke breathed into my bones like a dragon, and my spirits raised up a bit higher like a knight’s war call.

I like watching the fire. My mother said I got that habit from my father, and he said I got it from her. My puzzling parents, as always.

I wish it was always now.

Two candles, in a shelf by the door, one extinguished and the other desperately holding onto its light represented them. The remaining flame climbed up the wick, and fell again, raising itself back up in a continuous cycle. My father’s flame, it was, still alive after the eight years he hasn’t came back, maybe more so than ever.

Suddenly, the fire puckered up, licking the corners of the paper behind. Cautiously, I fanned the paper out, but not before the last thing I wrote on it scorched, painted a dung colored brown. September 31,—- the year was gone.

Flustered, I crumpled up the paper, snowballing it into the fire. The white tumbled into the raging orange, as the red consumed both the colors.”Phoo!” I blew out my father’s last flame. “Bye bye, mother and father .” Memories flashed by, and as always, came back to stab me in the chest, the knife cold and hard.

I slammed the door, scrambling into the grass, blades brushing against my bare ankles.

Today, the grass was a bit pointed, frozen by last night’s frost. The ground was sparsely covered at this season, but nonetheless, this was the day that Jack fought the beast a hundred or so years ago. I was just waiting for the bells to ring, when the townspeople would gather around the beanstalk, fruitful with flowers and life.

“Heyo!” Christian greeted me, grinning widely. His limp brown noodle-like hair was in a ponytail, and he was wearing a tan scumbag shirt. A bandage was taped on his cheek, newly acquired. “What’s up? Such a normal day, isn’t it?” He was trying his best to be a charmer.

“Today is the hundred and eighth anniversary of Jack slaying the giant! Did you forget?” I pulled his ear.

“It’s today?” He seemed startled, scratching his head stupidly.

“It is, you dunce!” I let him go, and he hopped like a bunny, freed from my grasp.

He hollered, “Oh boy! I can’t wait! Let’s go, Jackie!” He held my hand, racing toward the middle of the city. He ran, almost tripping me off my feet. Tendrils of his hair flew in my eyes, as I blinked rapidly, in a bewildered flurry of hair and quick wind. Soon, we were at the Beanstalk. I could see why he was, in fact, the Running Champion of the Hallows.

“Come one, come all!” The village minister welcomed the swarms of people with open arms, his blubbery form, jolly, unfitting with his outfit of dark black, “Today, we preach the powers of Jack sent by God, hundreds and hundreds of years ago!” The good-hearted man was yelling his blessings, sitting on the circular structure of smooth stone, surrounding the green plant, sprouting into the clouds.

From my place below, I saw vines swirling around the stalk, light pink flowers blooming, and as my eyes eventually climbed up to where it seared the hefty layer of puffy clouds. The scent of vanilla coated the air, my most recent favorite smell of candles. Wanting to smell more of the delicious scent, I followed my nose, landing on a precious pink flower, on the lower vines of the Beanstalk. As I went down to smell it, the petals collapsed on each other, closing its doors to its sweet center. I turned my head, as another heavy waft of vanilla flooded my senses. The flower opened back up again! Rushingly, I bounded for it again, unceremoniously greeted by an explosion of mustard pollen dust. With my face caked in yellow, I dumbly looked onto my friends in front of me. What an embarrassment!

The group of raunchy boys laughed at me, including Christian.

“Look at Jackie, smelling the flowers! Such a girly-girl, isn’t she?” Tom, the big, strong one of the group teased.

“At least I’m not as dumb as you!” I annoyingly played with his hair, “Shut up!”

“Shut up?” He was outraged, “How about you shut up!” Tom punched me the stomach, sending me flying with the blow, “You weak little girl!”

I got up to my bearings, cracking my neck, ready for a fight. This guy was not messing with me again! Gritting my teeth, I kicked his shins, confusing him. He stole a single glance at his ankles, when I delivered a solid punch to his face. He ricocheted into the rock hard stone, grunting like a caveman as he got up to his feet. Tom stared me down, his expression like a bull chasing red. From the corner of my eye, I saw bloody teeth scattered behind his large body.

“Guys! Break it up!” Christian yelled, pushing Tom away from me. His heels screeched against the dirt, dust emitting from them.

“Yeah, Tom!” Kev was on his side, cheering him on, like a little rodent. He pumped his skinny arm into the air, screaming an almost incompressible war cry, “Kill her!”

“Stop it!” Christian stopped pushing Tom. He gave us both a sly smirk, “Do you guys really want to be fighting in front of the minister?” The minister, noticing Christian’s cue, frowned at us. It was the first time I’d ever saw a negative emotion on him, and like his cloak, it certainly didn’t fit him well.

“Or…” he added, “The minister’s daughter? You know her, Kev. It looks like you’ll be her man quite soon.” For good measure, he added a high whistle.

“Really?” Kev questioned. He didn’t quite get Christian’s plan to stop our fight.

Instantly, Tom straightened, a fragile blush forming on his cheeks. I sat down, fixing my hair and brushing the yellow pigment off my face. They aren’t anything but embarrassments! I thought to myself, I couldn’t believe what Maria would do if she saw me like that! I’m so stupid! I tossed the last of the dust off my clothes, scooting to the front. All the townspeople will be here soon, so I needed to get a good, frontward seat for the storytelling. Even if I heard the story a million times, the story of the boy who killed the giant, I never got tired of it.

“You’re so funny!” Maria tapped my nose, giggling. Neatly, she folded her legs, crisscross-applesauce, hands on her knees along with a playful smile splayed on her face. Her black hair curled carefully around her chest, covering one half of her schoolgirl tie. Her glasses were large saucers, and developed bifocals from when I saw her last. “I saw the little duel you had there. And the explosion with flower dust!” A mischievous daft shone from her voice, “You like flowers, don’t you?”

“Y-y-y—yeah.” I stuttered. Staying calm in front of a rich person wasn’t easy, especially when you eat candies from the bottoms of shoes. “I do.”

“What’s wron—” Maria was interrupted by the tolling of bells, always playing the tone they do at midnight. This morning, it marked not only the noon hour, but a special ceremony as well: The 108th Storytelling of Jack, the hero of our village.


©SPINETTE SPYDER