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The Story of the Rocking Chair


by ange_lin

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There was a magic book, abandoned by a stupid witch. It was full of lies, like things about how to live long. One thousand years later, the book woke up. It saw itself, and then cried, "No! I don't want to be a book full of lies!" Suddenly, it felt strange. The pages in it became blank. It walked out of the murky swamp, seeking its fortune. A group of pets came, and made a circle around it.

     "Hi, Mister Book!" chirped the first one, a Blumaroo.

     "Can we read the stories inside you?" asked another one, a Kacheek.

      "I bet they're really good!" said an Acara.

      The book felt embarrassed, because it didn't have anything inside itself, but still nodded. The Acara started reading.

     "Once upon a time, there were three pets, an Acara, a Kacheek, and a Blumaroo. They were the best of friends since childhood and swore loyalty to each other. One day, as they were strolling in the streets of..."

     The pets looked at each other in excitement. It was their own personal story! They oohed and ahhed and told everybody about the magical book. Each told five friends, and the five friends told their friends who told their friends who told their friends. The book soon became full of stories. Neopets and their owners came to look at it, pets from far and wide. This is one of its stories.

The Story of the Rocking Chair

     In a village in Neopia called Eesa Village, there was an old garden. In the garden was a rocking chair. It was old and its color faded, but it was a comfortable chair indeed. All the villagers knew about it and its story. This is how it goes:

      Every day, the rocking chair rocked gently, waiting for someone to sit on it. One day, a Xweetok with soft, smooth hazel fur came in. Her eyes were brown and cheery, like the color of chocolate. She curled herself, rolling into a fur ball, and then slept. When she snored, her snore came out like a gentle breeze of wind. The chair felt warmth in the small creature, and rocked her like a baby. Every evening, the Xweetok went away, but would always come back the next afternoon. The rocking chair felt its happiest when she came. But one day, she went out of the gate and didn't come back.

     The rocking chair kept waiting for her, believing she would come.

      ...

     The Eesa flowers bloomed and withered, then withered and bloomed again.

     Weeks passed. The Xweetok still didn't come. The Rocking Chair kept thinking of the sweet Xweetok with such cheery eyes. One day, a stream of light appeared in the garden. A light faerie walked out of the mist. She had billowing clothes as bright as the sun, and fine long gold hair, but the chair didn't like her. She didn't curl herself on the rocking chair, rolling into a fur ball, when sleeping. The faerie sat gracefully on the rocking chair, but the chair kept made creaking noises.

     "Oh my, it seems like a broken chair... too bad. I guess I could find another place," she said, shaking her head sympathetically. "It looks pretty good, though."

     The villagers knew very well why the chair creaked. It was strong and sturdy, but the faerie wasn't the Xweetok with hazel fur, and the chair didn't want her to sit there.

     The Eesa flowers bloomed and withered, then withered and bloomed. Months passed. In the middle of autumn, a rich looking Gelert merchant came. He seemed pretty smart, but the rocking chair didn't like him. His mink coat wasn't soft or smooth and it didn't have hazel fur. The Gelert sat on the chair, but the chair creaked and shook. He jumped up, scratched his head and said in a gentlemanly way, "It's broken. Such a pity."

     The villagers knew very well why the chair creaked and shook. It was strong and sturdy, but the Gelert wasn't the Xweetok with hazel fur, and the chair didn't want him to sit there.

     Years passed. Every time a pet or person sat on the rocking chair, it was always shaken off. It was nearing spring. A strange looking Zafara came in She was short, stout and green, with black robes and a black hat. Her eyes were pure black, quick and darting. Edna, the people called her; she was known for her grumpiness and bad temper. The villagers treated her with respect and something else...

     "A sturdy looking rocking chair; you don't see those so often. Most of the lot are all for grannies, they break when two pets sit on them. Nope, they're too frail. But this one just might be right for me." She grumbled to herself, and then spoke again. "Hey, it looks just perfect for my tower. Just add a bit more dust, and a few fake spiders, presto! It'll be ready. I'll just test it."

     She sat down, but the rocking chair didn't like her either. She didn't even try to sleep, and even if she did, she probably wouldn't snore like a gentle breeze. It shook; it creaked, trying to shake her off.

     Edna jumped up, her face contorted into a snarl. "You blasted rocking chair! How dare you not let me, Edna, the witch of the Haunted Woods, sit on you? I'll teach you to mess with me. You just wait; the next thing you'll know is that you'll be dead! Dead as a doornail!"

     She closed her eyes and started chanting a string of ancient words. Thunder crashed. Streaks of white lightning filled the sky. Edna stopped chanting, and the sun came out again. To her surprise, the rocking chair was still there, perfect, flawless.

     "What the-Urgh, I'll try again." Edna tried tons of spells, but none worked. After a few hours of trying to destroy the chair, she finally gave up. She shook her head, and grumbled as she went back to her home.

     The villagers knew very well why the chair wasn't affected by the spells. It missed the Xweetok with hazel fur too much, and didn't want her to sit there.

      The Eesa flowers bloomed and withered, then withered and bloomed. The rocking chair was still thinking of the beloved creature. Its smile was so sweet! it thought. Just then, a small Xweetok with soft, smooth hazel fur came in through the old garden gate. She stopped to rest, and then spotted the rocking chair.

     "Aren't you the rocking chair that my grandmother used to talk about?" she questioned, jumping on the chair. Then, she told it that her grandmother was a magician's pet. The magician took her somewhere, and after she escaped she tried to find the chair. But she didn't find it. Her daughter ("who is my mother now," she said) searched for the rocking chair too, but never found it either.

     "But now, I've found you," she said, smiling. Then, she shifted in a more comfortable position, curled into a fur ball, (just like her grandmother did,) then started sleeping. She snored like a gentle breeze of wind. The chair felt familiar warmth in the small creature, and rocked her like a baby...

The End

 
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