my magic bag of marbles - Writers Forum

zeeby · 12-17-2006, 02:25 AM

I wrote this in reply to something a freind asked me a while back. He asked me, jokingly, if we could start an underground revolution with the new genre we had created, us both being writers with similar styles. I answered him with this story, nothing more. It's how i felt about why i should or should not share my style with so many others. See if you can figure out what it means. Oh and tell me what you thought.

there was once a boy, back before the twenty-first century. This boy was a lonely boy, and he lived in a reasonably small town. When this boy was five his mother gave him a bag of marbles, which he held more dear to him than anything else on earth. Every day he would lay the marbles out on his floor and play various games. It never got old to the boy, and he was a very happy young man because of it.

In fifth grade, the marble boy attended school on the first day, and met a friend. After a few weeks, the discomfort was gone, and the marble boy felt it necessary to invite his new friend to his home to play marbles. No one in town played marbles but marble boy. marble boy and his new friend ate dinner as quickly as they could, so as to rush to the living room to participate in a game of marbles. It was an instant hit with his new friend. They played for hours, and had immense amounts of fun. Every day after that marble boys friend and marble boy went to different places all over town to dump the bag of polished stones in the magical bag that marble boy coveted so dearly, and still the novelty hadn't yet worn off.

than one day, marble boy was walking to his new friends home, eagerly jingling the bag of balls in his pocket. He was so excited to delve back into the world of marbles. He took a glance to his left, where his eyes fell upon the local park. Inside it, three boys were playing a game, sprawled out on the ground. They seemed to be having a lot of fun. Marble boy was eager to know what they were doing, so he scurried over to where the three boys laid. He heard a familiar clanking, and sped up, almost sure he heard the sound of rock on rock, and sure enough, the boys were playing marbles. The boy got a terrible feeling in his gut, And he couldn’t figure out why. He walked solemnly to his new friends house and knocked three times. Upon his third knock, his friend answered.

Marbles were spread out on the floor, and a girl was lying on the carpet of the living room, one eye closed, head cocked slightly. A stone was loosely fitted in the crevasse of her thumb and closed fist. Marble boys friend uninvited him, saying he had a new friend to play marbles with. Marble boy went home, and went to the one thing that always cheered him up. Tears in his eyes, he dumped the magic bag empty onto his carpet. He played for five minutes but he felt no better. He didn't even have fun. The next day he went to school and sure enough, everyone had marbles. That feeling sunk into his chest once again, and the day dragged on. That day in his living room something happened.

The magic bag had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, but no game had taken place. The novelty, which had stayed since he was a toddler, was gone. That feeling in his chest grew greater as he stuffed his not-so-magic bag into the dark corner of the bottom drawer under his bed. A tear leaked out for the last time over the bag. He lived another twenty years, years which went by slow. Eventually he forgot the marbles slightly, but he was never truly happy again. There was always a hole in his soul, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

One day, when he was thirty five, he was throwing out his bed. Cleaning the drawer under it, he found a dusty old bag. His gut wrenched, as he swallowed his own heart back down into his throat. He dumped the bag again, after years of living without it. There was no smile on his face, only the look of a druggie far into withdrawal. With a bit lip, and bulging eyes, he started a new game but alas, the novelty did not return, he sighed, deposited the bag into his pocket and walked out of the room. The next day after school, he gave his son the bag, saying just one thing, "this is a great gift. It's a magic bag, you know. Just take this advice, it must always be yours, always."

goat · 12-17-2006, 04:41 PM

conall+marbles=genius

zeeby · 06-08-2007, 05:17 PM

Oh zeebin