<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-301972815272408629</id><updated>2011-11-18T10:25:47.782-08:00</updated><category term='The Missing Mirror'/><category term='The Princess and the Masquerade Ball'/><category term='The Itty Bitty Giant'/><category term='Write a Story Together'/><category term='Cindy R. Williams'/><title type='text'>Write a Story Together</title><subtitle type='html'>This is it! The WRITE A STORY GAME! The unique blog where YOU help write the story! Visit and write daily! Remember, only "G" rated stories. No current story happening right now because writers are busy writing their own novels. Thanks!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Cindy R. Williams</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04514658355740025380</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/TDZikFJ4nXI/AAAAAAAABJg/YMsHGOD_xy0/S220/Cindy_Williams_small_photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-301972815272408629.post-4274632302063546014</id><published>2009-11-07T16:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T16:37:27.347-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cindy R. Williams'/><title type='text'>Time To Work On Your Own Story!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SvYSfd00rlI/AAAAAAAAA0I/q28cuhDne6U/s1600-h/Editing_Red_Pen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" sr="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SvYSfd00rlI/AAAAAAAAA0I/q28cuhDne6U/s200/Editing_Red_Pen.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Cindy is in another world doing rewrites right now, so &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;"Write a Story Together" is floating in cyberspace for a little while.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Time to work on your own story.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/301972815272408629-4274632302063546014?l=writeastorytogether.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/feeds/4274632302063546014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=301972815272408629&amp;postID=4274632302063546014' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/4274632302063546014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/4274632302063546014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/2009/11/time-to-work-on-your-own-story.html' title='Time To Work On Your Own Story!'/><author><name>Cindy R. Williams</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04514658355740025380</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/TDZikFJ4nXI/AAAAAAAABJg/YMsHGOD_xy0/S220/Cindy_Williams_small_photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SvYSfd00rlI/AAAAAAAAA0I/q28cuhDne6U/s72-c/Editing_Red_Pen.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-301972815272408629.post-5723440790222319057</id><published>2009-10-20T22:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T22:51:15.053-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cindy R. Williams'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Write a Story Together'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Missing Mirror'/><title type='text'>The Missing Mirror</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: purple; font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Missing Mirror&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/St6feMiKcKI/AAAAAAAAAwA/GAznmtUlIzI/s1600-h/Mirrors_logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/St6feMiKcKI/AAAAAAAAAwA/GAznmtUlIzI/s320/Mirrors_logo.jpg" vr="true" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;Shelby ran up the sidewalk, knees covered in blood.&amp;nbsp; She jumped up the four steep steps to her front door and tried to turn the handle. It wouldn't open. She began to pound and yell, "Kalie, Cassie, let me in, hurry! They are coming!"&amp;nbsp; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The door flew open and she fell onto her knees crying out in pain. Taking little notice she asked in a strained voice, "Is it here? Is the mirror safe?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A deep voice answered . . .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="background-color: purple; color: white; font-size: large;"&gt;Please click on "Comments" just below to read the rest of the story and to add your own personal twist!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/301972815272408629-5723440790222319057?l=writeastorytogether.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/feeds/5723440790222319057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=301972815272408629&amp;postID=5723440790222319057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/5723440790222319057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/5723440790222319057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/2009/10/missing-door.html' title='The Missing Mirror'/><author><name>Cindy R. Williams</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04514658355740025380</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/TDZikFJ4nXI/AAAAAAAABJg/YMsHGOD_xy0/S220/Cindy_Williams_small_photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/St6feMiKcKI/AAAAAAAAAwA/GAznmtUlIzI/s72-c/Mirrors_logo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-301972815272408629.post-4811576452714895794</id><published>2009-10-12T21:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T22:52:15.978-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Princess and the Masquerade Ball'/><title type='text'>"Th Princess and the Masquerade Ball"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqYkKlBymI/AAAAAAAAApY/5cqX3Mnvg8A/s1600-h/Mask+White+feather+diva.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img $r="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqYkKlBymI/AAAAAAAAApY/5cqX3Mnvg8A/s320/Mask+White+feather+diva.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Laughter and music floated up the grand staircase to where Princess Maranda clung to the marble hand rail. She knew her identity was safe behind her diamond studded, feathered mask, but this did little to calm her nerves. She had overheard her mother, the Queen, speaking to several Ladies in Waiting about the appearance of the new Duke. His father had passed several years ago, and his son and heir had arrived just last week to accept his title and the many properties that it entailed including the "Haunted North Eden Castle." He was said to be a most handsome, scoundral, just like his father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The music stopped. She knew it was time to assend. She took a deep calming breath and . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Friday, October 2, 2009 Joyce DiPastena said...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She heard an odd rustling nearby. A breeze accompanied it, brushing gently across her cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware," a voice murmured, so softly she was sure she only imagined it. Until it came again, with a fluttering sensation against her ear.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Instinctively, she raised a hand to brush away the tickle.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware...and do you mind? You've set my feathers all askew. Would you please smooth them out again for me?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Feathers? What..." &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda nearly jumped out of her luscious silk gown. Her mask! It was the mask that was whispering in her ear!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqY6AR1zVI/AAAAAAAAApg/oZtgtIXkTZY/s1600-h/Mask+Male+Black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img $r="true" border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqY6AR1zVI/AAAAAAAAApg/oZtgtIXkTZY/s320/Mask+Male+Black.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;Saturday, October 03, 2009 6:36:00 PM Cindy R. Williams said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She gathered her wits and smoothed the feathers.&amp;nbsp;"There, does that feel better?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Does what feel better, lovely lady? I assume you are talking to me since I see no one else around."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda gasped as she looked up into the most brilliant blue eyes she had ever seen. It almost looked like they were twinkling at her with laughter. A midnight blue mask surounded those heart stopping eyes. The gentlman they belonged to was at least a head taller than her, and he smelled of fresh air and waterfalls.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Excue me sir, are you speaking to me?" She asked, her voice quite breathless. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; He continued to hold her gaze and replied . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;Sunday, October 04, 2009 5:32:00 PM Joyce DiPastena Said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I am speaking to one of the stars that fell from the sky. Please, my little twinkling star, may I have this dance?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Maranda placed her small gloved hand in his strong tanned fingers, blushing too hard at his charm to give him any other answer. But as she moved with him towards the dance floor, her mask fluttered again against her ear.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware," it murmured soft as a breeze. "He is not what he appears."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;Sunday, October 04, 2009 8:14 PM Cindy R. Williams Said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Shush," Princess Maranda whispered to her mask.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Parden me, my Lady?" The stranger stopped, and spun her into his arms as the stepped into the ballroom.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I was speaking to---oh never mind, it is of no consequence." She flashed her famous smile that caused men to fall at her feet any time she chose to use it's power. "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction. You are but a mystery gentleman to me."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I am . . ." His azure eyes were still focused on her lips even though her smile was had melted away.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda smiled again, pleased to know that he was a man just like any other of the ton her could not withstand her dimpled smile.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; This time the gentleman actually stumbled on the next step of the intricate dance. He pulled her close and . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sunday, October 04, 2009 5:32:00 PM Joyce DiPastena said... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ...gave a tremendous sneeze right over her shoulder.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Ah..forgive me," he sniffled, his face red from embarrassment and the force of his nostrils' explosion."Your mask...those feathers... Would you mind if I...?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; He reached out a hand as if to remove her mask, but the feathers positively shrieked in her ears, "Beware, beware, beware!"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She winced at the screech that apparently only she could hear, but slipped away from the gentleman's arms all the same. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Er...um...would you like a handkerchief?" she asked, and fished a small square of linen out of the elegant reticule that swung from her dainty wrist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thursday, October 8, 2009 Sophia said...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: #073763;"&gt;The blazing blue eyes left derisive flickers of flames on the fingers she held her dainty hankie that he left untouched.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;"You dare to ask my indentity but recoil from possibly revealing your own?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Thursday, October 8, 2009 Cindy R. Williams said...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A loud sneeze burst forth again. "I shall take that handkerchief after all," the man looked bemused behind his mysterious dark mask.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; He took the handkerchief from her hand and blew his nose so loud that couples dancing nearby gasped. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda could not control her&amp;nbsp;giggles. He was&amp;nbsp;an unusual man. He cared naught what the ton thought of him. She felt her heart warming toward him.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I will have this laundered and return it to you at the Theater tomorrow eve." He smiled at her, white teeth sparkling in the candle light from the chandeliers and wall sconses.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She had no idea what he had just said. Butterflies danced in Princess Maranda's stomach. Is this what others felt when they saw her own smile often called "heart stopping"? She did not like him affecting her so strongly.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware, beware, beware," the mask warned once again.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;"Beware of what?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;The gentleman tilted his head to the side. "Beware? My lady, I just invited you to the Theater."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Oh, never mind," she snapped at the mask. "Now, what were you saying?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I was saying . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 8, 2009 8:00 AM Sophia said... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The blazing blue eyes left derisive flickers of flames on the fingers she held her dainty hankie that he left untouched. "You dare to ask my identity but recoil from possibly revealing your own?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 9, 2009 10:42 PM Joyce DiPastena said... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "...that there is a splendid new play being performed at the MAC. I was hoping you would allow me to escort you there tomorrow eve."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "That's it!" the mask exclaimed in its murmuring, fluttering way. "Don't say I didn't warn you."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The strings at the back of Maranda's head suddenly loosened and the mask fell away from her face. The gentleman, who had just finished stuffing her handkerchief into his elegant coat's pocket, stared at her abruptly revealed features...but not with the kind of awe men usually gazed at her with.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Oh...Oh, dear. Forgive me, my lady. You were not who I thought you were. I was looking for..." He craned his neck to gaze about the ballroom. "Ah, there she is! You will excuse me?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Maranda watched, frozen with shock as he walked away. Numbly, mechanically, she bent over to pick up her mask and slowly set it back in its place.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Now then," the mask whispered briskly, "you're safe. But what of the woman he's really stalking? We'd best go after him, don't you think?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 10, 2009 Sophia said... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Why did you have to ruin it?" Maranda stomped her slippered foot on the rush covered floor.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "It was your ruin I prevented." A feather tickled her ear.&lt;br /&gt;Maranda followed the male she no longer considered a gentleman, staying far enough back that he wouldn't notice.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The lady he approached was dressed in a pearlescent satin gown with embroidered butterflies covering the skirt. Her blond hair piled high on her head trailed down to a gossamer shawl that appeared to be wings. Her face was masked with silk cloth. "Oh ...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 10, 2009 Anna del C. Dye said...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; She knew that gown and the regal person in it.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "It can't be. What would he want with my mother."&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware," she heard again and a feather quivered in the night. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Her heart stopped as she witnessed the queen smile charmingly at the man. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Beware," she heard again, but this time it was not her mask. Startled at the baritone voice she turned to find a black mask set with exquisite feathers that framed deep green eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Spying is an ancient form of wisdom," it said, "but in our day it is punished with death."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 10, 2009 2:22 PM hopeandme said... &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Who are you?" Maranda whispered. "And what is going on? Who is that man with the Queen? And what am I to beware of?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I am. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;October 14, 2009 10:31 PM Cindy R. Williams said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: black;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "the Duke of North Eden. I recently returned from my adventures to take my place in this rediculous ton." His green eyes showed distain and he grimmaced as he looked around the ball room.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Oh, I see. I am sorry if you do not like us, for I too am part of the ton." Princess Maranda was not feeling especially civil herself right&amp;nbsp;now after her mishap with the sneezing, rude man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "My apologies my lady, I have not been welcomed into this society prior to my inheriting my title, and find it quite shallow to base all upon titles and wealth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda stared at the Duke in surprise. "How very interesting you are. I too think that title and wealth should have nothing to do with respect."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Those green eyes glowed under the mask and the Duke bowed and said . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;that caused men to fall at her feet any time she chose to use it's power. "I have not had the pleasure of an introduction. You are but a mystery gentleman to me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I am . . ." His azure eyes were still focused on her lips even though her smile was had melted away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Princess Maranda smiled again, pleased to know that he was a man just like any other of the ton her could not withstand her dimpled smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; This time the gentleman actually stumbled on the next step of the intricate dance. He pulled her close and . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The blazing blue eyes left derisive flickers of flames on the fingers she held her dainty hankie that he left untouched. "You dare to ask my identity but recoil from possibly revealing your own?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #c27ba0;"&gt;October 10, 2009 2:55 PM Joyce DiPastena said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "I see...or rather, hear...that you have a talking mask, too. Perhaps we should heed them, my lady, and intervene on your mother's behalf. I realize the risk...I trust you do as well? Spying, as my mask reminded us, is punishable by death in your father's kingdom. Yet a bit of spying is what your mother needs just now if we are to rescue her from my cousin. Yes, I regret to admit, my cousin! If I am not much mistaken, he intends to...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;October 20, 2009 Harmony said...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Kill the King, and sweep your mother off her feet. Alas, and all tonight at this Masqerade Ball. We shall pounce on him now and remove his mask with the hidden knife woven into his eyebrows. We shall save the Kingdom, and we shall be married in the morn my beautiful Princess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "But how did you know I was the Princess?" Mask in hand she gazed into his sweet eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Your beauty is legendary, and there is such purity in your eyes, you could but naught be the incomparable Princess." Those green gazed deep. So deep Princess Maranda felt her heart race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Will you marry me, dear one?" He whipsered. His mask added, "Say yes!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Of course she will marry you," her mask answered. "The Princess merely nodded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Then let us make haste and save the Kindom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; They did just that and lived happily ever after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: #a64d79;"&gt;THE END&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/301972815272408629-4811576452714895794?l=writeastorytogether.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/feeds/4811576452714895794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=301972815272408629&amp;postID=4811576452714895794' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/4811576452714895794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/4811576452714895794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/2009/10/princess-and-masquerade-ball.html' title='&quot;Th Princess and the Masquerade Ball&quot;'/><author><name>Cindy R. Williams</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04514658355740025380</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/TDZikFJ4nXI/AAAAAAAABJg/YMsHGOD_xy0/S220/Cindy_Williams_small_photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqYkKlBymI/AAAAAAAAApY/5cqX3Mnvg8A/s72-c/Mask+White+feather+diva.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-301972815272408629.post-883968885166372927</id><published>2009-10-04T18:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T21:27:57.153-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Itty Bitty Giant'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Write a Story Together'/><title type='text'>The Itty Bitty Giant</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqnNXqW3GI/AAAAAAAAApw/If8pcqNG8t8/s1600-h/boy+playing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img $r="true" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqnNXqW3GI/AAAAAAAAApw/If8pcqNG8t8/s200/boy+playing.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"&gt;The Itty Bitty Giant&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Once there was an itty bitty giant that lived&amp;nbsp;amongst all the not so tiny giants. He slept in the bottom drawer of his parents dresser in the top of a turret and used his dad's hankerchief for blankets. Although he was ten years old, and quite a clever giant, he was so small that none of the other giant children let him play their favorite game of rolling cabbages down the hill at the townspeople. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Really now. What's the matter with the local giants anyway? Everyone knows it is much more fun to sneak around at night and set sugarberry pie on the humans porches to surprise them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Tuesday, September 22, 2009 12:13:00 PM Joyce DiPastena said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The little giant's name was Winifer and even worse than the fact that the other giants wouldn't let him play their cabbage game was the fact that he LOVED sugarberry pies. He loved them so much, that he couldn't help taking just a tiny bite out of every pie he left on the human porches. By the time the humans found the pies in the morning, they assumed that birds had been pecking at the crust and sugarpie fillings. Well, who wants to eat a pie that's been pecked by birds? So the humans just left the pies on the porches for the real birds to eat. This made Winifer very sad, because he liked it when his game made the humans smile, but he just couldn't seem to control his sweet tooth, so they always frowned when they found his "pecked" pies, instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Tuesday, September 22, 2009 9:21:00 PM Donna Hatch said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; That's when Winifer made a startling realization: even though he was tiny for a giant, he was the same size as the humans. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Perhaps the human children will let me play with them," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; So he went to the human village and watched as the children played some strange game with a ball. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; A little human girl noticed Winifer standing alone. She smiled at him as she began walking toward him. All of a sudden, the idea of actually talking to a human terrified Winifer, so he ran away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Wednesday, September 23, 2009 11:03:00 AM Melinda said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winifer decided it was time to overcome his sweet tooth. Just because he was tiny did not mean he could not be strong. When the next evening came he decided he would deliver at least ten pies to the humans and he would not take one bite of any of the pies. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Evening fell and he set out on his quest. The pies were heavy and running from door to door with them was exhausting. When he had reached the very last house the sun was rising over the horizon and Winifer lay down under a nearby bush to rest before he headed home. Before he could fall asleep his tummy began to growl. An early morning breeze stirred the trees and swept across the top of the sugarpie on the porch. The scent was like a magnet that pulled Winifer to his feet. He fought the urge but it smelled oh so good. Maybe just one bite of this very last pie would not be so bad. He had been so strong with all nine of the others. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Before he knew it he was back on the porch, the morning rays of the sun peeked over the top of the mountain and sparkled across the sugar crystals on top of the pie.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Just one bite, one tiny little bite and I will run for the hills. He had opened his watering mouth, sunk his tiny teeth into the most delicious pie he had ever tasted and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the crumbs tumbled down the front of his shirt when.... squeeeeeek.... the front door of the house opened. The pie caught in Winifers throat as he opened his eyes and saw...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Friday September 25 Joyce DiPastena said...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; ...the little human girl who had been playing with the ball in the village. She stared at Winifer with large, round eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "You're not a bird," she said.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Well...um...no..." Winifer said. Only the words came out, "Wul...mmm...nph," because his mouth was full of sugarberry pie.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; The girl beamed a bright smile at him. "Hi! My name is Winifred. Haven't I seen you somewhere around before? You look somewhat familiar, though you're a little...um...broad across the shoulders, aren't you. Or maybe the other boys I know are just skinny. Someone's been leaving sugarberry pies all over town, but the birds keep eating them before we can even get a taste. It's too bad, because my mouth does water so at the sight and smell of them, but Mum gave me a terrible scold when she saw me scooping a bite out with a fork. 'Gracious, Winny, you don't know where that bird's beak has been!' she screamed at me, and snatched the fork away before I could even taste it." Winifred blushed. "I'm sorry. Mum says I'm a terrible chatterbox. I haven't even asked you your name. You must be terribly hungry, to eat a pie that birds have pecked with who-knows-where-their-beaks-have-been beaks. Would you like to come inside and eat some 'safe' food? That's what Mum calls it. Here, let me run and get a napkin to help you wipe those sugar beads off your shirt!" &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; And Winifred ran back inside the house before Winifer could do more than utter, "Mphhh."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue;"&gt;Saturday September 26 2009 9:17:00 PM Cindy R. Williams said... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winifer scratched his head, not sure what to do. Before he had time to figure it out, Winifred was back. She grabbed his hand and pulled him inside the door. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Winifer this is my mother, Winny. Mom this is Winifer. Can he has some safe food?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winifer tried to smile at the kindly looking woman, but his mouth trembled. And if that wasn't enough there were two dark brown eyes peeking out from a ball of fur near his feet. Poor Winifer was so frightned that before he could move or even let out a scream, a pink tongue stuck out below the eyes and began to lick him. Instead of screaming, he laughed. Then out came a loud burp, a sugarberry pie burp. Winfer laughed some more. Winifred joined in and so did her mom.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winfred's mom set out some fresh bread, butter and jelly and two large glasses of milk on the kitchen table. Winifer and Winifred sat down and began to eat. The fur ball with the pink tongue sat at their feet panting. &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winifreds mother turned to Winfer and asked . . . &lt;br /&gt;"Do you want to ride on our electric kite after you eat, and take Winifer back to his home before it grows to late?"&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "Oh yes Mother!" &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; Winifer and Winifred ate quickly, jumped on the electric kite and sailed into the deep blue sky. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;THE END &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/301972815272408629-883968885166372927?l=writeastorytogether.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/feeds/883968885166372927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=301972815272408629&amp;postID=883968885166372927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/883968885166372927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/301972815272408629/posts/default/883968885166372927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://writeastorytogether.blogspot.com/2009/10/itty-bitty-giant-once-there-was-itty.html' title='The Itty Bitty Giant'/><author><name>Cindy R. Williams</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04514658355740025380</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='23' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/TDZikFJ4nXI/AAAAAAAABJg/YMsHGOD_xy0/S220/Cindy_Williams_small_photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_xhmW8wQsp2Y/SsqnNXqW3GI/AAAAAAAAApw/If8pcqNG8t8/s72-c/boy+playing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
