Merry Christmas Little One
Posted: Tue Dec 11, 2012 1:06:05 pmThis is one of the stories I have written for the contest. It features a short clip of me singing, which is why there is a link. I plan to write and sing more. Hopefully when I am less sick.
- I could hear the noises around me, the bustling of bodies and the slight movement when footsteps came close to where I was. It was nigh impossible for me to see them though, and while I was blind from the outside, I could still hear and feel. My egg had been getting increasingly more cramped but it was not yet time for me to hatch. I had felt the warmth of the hand that had picked me up as she choose me from the clutch. Her joy at finally getting a wyrm was obvious from her elated noises. Now I sat delicately upon a crocheted blanket, nestled in to keep me cosy. I was upon the coffee table, near the hubbub of the Christmas preparations, but safe from anything which might knock me over.
The first few days were not quite so lively, despite the music I could hear in the background faintly and the movements as people went by. It was not until the third day when I finally could feel the pressure of my enclosure. I yearned to get out, to experience the world, but it wasn’t time yet. Still those around me hurried along, and I could feel myself being lifted up every so often and talked to softly. It was during one of these happenstances that I found myself being lulled by the sweet voice of my handler, who, whilst holding me close, sang to me.
As her voice rang above me, I could feel my emotions swelling. The soothing touch and her voice made me want to soar, to be with her and experience the joy that was all around me. This joy touched my heart and made me desire and yearn to be included. It was in that moment that I felt the pressure around me give way, my body expanding as the egg around me cracked into small pieces. The light was dim, the sole source coming from a large tree which stood in the corner, cast about with lights and shiny ornaments. There appeared to be wrapped boxes beneath it, stacked on top of each other. With a small meep I looked up at the girl who was holding me. Soft brown eyes stared back at me, and I found myself being lifted up to her face level.
“Hello little Ceilicia,” her voice soft, as a single finger caressed my fur, smoothing it from my abrupt hatching. I merely meeped again, too overcome with emotion to reply in any other way. Around me cascaded a warm glow, emanating from the Christmas tree. I curled my body into her hand, trying to get used to the feeling of movement.
“Merry Christmas Ceilicia,” once again she spoke, lifting a small purple ribbon from the table and fastening it very gently onto one of my horns. As I looked around I could see a small crocheted blanket, the one which I had sat on before, on the table. She lifted it from there and set it in her palm, moving me onto it and letting me nestle into its warmth. The crackling of the fireplace was the only other audible sound besides her breathing once she curled up on the couch, tenderly holding me in her hand, close to her chest.