Blogger Whispers

I have the rather dubious honour of starting this chain-post thing. Thanks, Erique.

The instructions:

1. You take the story, and give it your own unique twist.

2. Link back to the blogger who whispered to you and or include their name in your post.

3. Whisper the new challenge into the ear of a blogger of your picking.

4. Let them know by leaving a comment at theirs.

Pass it on with the instructions!

There’s a fish-pond in our backyard. Just a little pond, you know. But the most wonderful plants dip into the water’s edge, and their leaves fan out in such a brilliant display of orange, red and green that I could sit still and watch the ripples and the colours fuse on the water’s surface for hours on end. I think it may have been what first charmed me into getting the house. Of course, the swing-seat on the back porch where my husband and I could sit and watch the sunset in the evenings may have helped a little. There was such an airy feeling about the whole place too. Maybe it was the wide open spaces. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of peace and calm. We called it home immediately.

I have two children: Jacob’s four years old, and Sara’s almost two. I love them both very much. Sara’s bubbly, never stops chattering, even if we barely understand a word she’s saying while Jacob is a little, well, quiet. Some would call my boy cold, but what do a bunch of gossipy, over-the-hill women know? He’s just pensive. Yes, that’s it. That’s the word for my little genius.

We are throwing a party this weekend to celebrate Sara turning two. It’s going to be a rush, what with the clowns and all the children and their parents swarming about. My sisters are coming over to help out with the food and everything though, so it should be fine.

*********************************************************************************************************

“Okay kids, gather around. It’s time to cut the cake.”

I have to raise my voice over the din of some twenty children high on sugar and excitement. There are party streamers and balloons everywhere, and toys placed conveniently to trip up adult feet. It takes several minutes to get the kids to stand semi-quietly around the cake and birthday presents. But only a few seconds for me to realize that Jacob and Sara are not among them.

I try to clamp down on the instinctive worry, as I run outside the house, shouting out their names. Nothing could be wrong, could it?

“Jacob! Sara! Jacooooob!”

I find Jacob standing by the pond with a very strange smile on his face.

“Where’s your sister?” I ask.

He points to the water.

There is Sara’s birthday-princess hat bobbing on the surface. I am just in time to see the last of the bubbles disappear. The water surface becomes disturbingly calm.

I scream.

I am whispering this story into The Dark Knight’s ear.