Hope, PG - An encouraging fantasy

Hi guys, it's me again with a short story that's much different from what I normally write. I got the idea today while doing the dishes, and this is kind of a introduction to something I hope to write. A small bright hope in the midst of scary life.

Title: Tentatively called Hope
Rating: this part is G, but the rest probably won't go past PG.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Anya?"

"I can't sleep."

"...again? You're turning into a sleepless Naught, dear, you'll wander the countryside with wide eyes, moaning and unable to close your eyes ever again."

"Am not, it's just...the wolves are loud tonight. I'm too scared to sleep."

"The fire will keep them at a safe distance. Maybe I should tell you about the time I fought the wolf that was three times my size, with merely my fists on the back of that pegasus you like, Sunfire. Now that is a good story."

"No, Daddy. Tell me about the place you like so much. The one with a breeze like cool icy breath mixed with the sun. "

"But you heard it last night, and the night before that, and..."

"I know...I like to hear you tell it."

"Are you sure you don't want to hear the wolf story?"

"Please, tell me again, I'm almost forgetting it now. What color are the clouds?"

"The clouds are a golden glow of purple and orange wrapped in love.
The sun is a bright yellow tan that shines down happiness from above..."

"Does it always have to rhyme?"

"Yes, it makes it more soothing that way, so maybe you'll fall asleep, and it helps you remember."

"It's a little on the theatrical side, Daddy."

"There are trees of every shape and size and plants that coat the ground.
And there are people there who take interrupting girls and tickle them upside down..."

"Daaaaaddy, that's not how it goes. There are people there without a care who walk without a sound."

"Yes yes, I know. Will you continue to interrupt, or do I have to change more verses? "

"I won't, honest."

"Thank you. Now where was I?"

"The people."

"Ah yes. The people who smile as if they know no wrong.
They laugh and play and some folks say that when they talk, it sounds like a song.

They live in a valley rich so with life that seems as if it would burst.
A river just there is full of fresh, cool water which will forever banish your thirst.

And the air is far more purer there, with a sweet freshness second to none.
The wind is a breeze of pleasantness like an ice cool breath mixed with the sun.

Wherever you stand in this magical land is always an abundance of light.
And nary a thought of famine or drought can come to your mind, try as you might.

The flowers with magical powers come in every color thought of and also those which have not.
And the colors are smells in such lovely aromas that your cares are quickly forgot.

Every morning is set with a fine feast fit for a king that will satisfy your hunger for days.
And every night you alight on a downy soft bed that comforts you in all different ways.

Music sits in the air and tickles your ears, weaving through every fiber and soul.
Each new day is a song of something far long forgotten and your heart can feel whole.

This place has known no pain, no sadness, no fear, no doubt.
The blissful feelings like joy and peace are never gone without.

It is often said that time is forgotten in this beautiful land.
But if you too had such richness in you, you would come to understand.

Dreams are reality and reality dreams there, everything fusing as one.
And most of all, I fondly recall, the people do cherish their fun.

So don't fret, my child, in this broken world, that nothing seems to be right.
Someday we will go far away to that wonderful land where daytime is made of the night."

"Have you really been there, Daddy? It sounds too good to be real."

"Yes, Anya. It is real, and every word is true of the story. Even the part about the tickling."

."..will I ever be able to see it?"

"I am sure of it. Now sleep, it's getting late. We have much work tomorrow before the harvest, the ice is coming."

"Thank you, I'll never forget the story, I promise. It will be below freezing again tomorrow, won't it?"

"Keep it close to your heart and you won't. Yes, but let the story give you warm thoughts, we'll make it as we always have."

"I will, it reminds me how to smile, anyway. Love you."

"Love you too, munchkin."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, precious one."

Awwww!! How cute! *hugs them*

Then again, you rhymed. And you know how I feel about rhyming

... It was still cute though. You're going to write more for it, eh?

Hehe, thanks! And I know you hate rhyming, her little comment about it was basically a tribute to you because of it. And yep, I hope to soon, something little, something sweet.

I am always in favour of one work names these days. Possible because writing "If On A Winters Night A Traveller" a thousand times in my exams, not to mension memorising the titles of artworks like "Nelombo nucisera, lotus, elum, thamarae" (Damn you Fiona Hall and your bellybuttons). But the simpler the name the more evocative it can be, like the three colours trilogy, called 'red', 'white' and 'blue', I mean everyone associates something unique to a word, and such as it is with your title. Yay.

Simplistic beginning to, sort of reminiscent of a picture book. Namely "Can't you sleep little bear", one of my favourite books of all time. You hear the vioces very vividly, you hear them through the darkness.

Anya, eh? Russian pet form of Anna, which in turn is the romanised version of Hannah. I am amused. But the Russian thing is cool, makes me think of the cuddling up in furs, (not that I endorse fur), but the cuddling up and story telling, and the rich fairy tail tradition of Russian fairytales, such as "Vassalisa the Wise" and "Vassalisa the beautiful", and "Baba Yaga".

Simplistic minimalist dialogue works to create a degree of familiarity through ambiguous, anonymous, common experiences, much like the title.

Ooh, way to bring in the created race and mythology. Very speculative of you, and also evocative. Slightly wraith liek creatures I'm guessing. I like how you allude to things to create your alternative world rather than outright shoving things down the reader's throats, it's warm and comforting.

And vaguely gothic, the dystopia of the wolves yet a child has adapted to it, innocence and predators, nice contrast, nice symbolism. And the use of the father 's embellishments of the truth within the fantasy world are effective.

Very like small children. I used to hide books in the back cover of other book o mum would have to read them as well. Good rapport bewtween characters, sense of playfulness and powerplay.

And naked babies with bows and arrows frolic with a dove
Nobody likes to push to to shove
Cause It's the carebear countdown 4 3 2 1...

Again, vaguely gothic, cause this would be the utopia part of the utopia/dystopia.
If you want to emphise this facet of it, some onomatopoeiac verbs and some specific obscure metaphors, perhaps a few paradoxes for good measure, could be fun.

Humorous interjection from the peanut gallery.

I love the tickling upside down thing, satirizing the epic ballads.

Traditional rhyming couplets with regular rhythm, idyllic setting. I like that it's kind of.. I don't know, almost biblical, the land of milk and honey, that kind of idealism of the place, it's not even so much about the imagery, it's about the loss of despair, that hope that is the titlensss, and also in the symbolism of the river, which is also rather Biblical and vaguely Wintonesque.

Mm, again, beautiful utopic imagery. A world without drought, now taht is a strange thought.

Every colour ever thought of? Even Splurrple? Rhythm created with flowers and powers, this is good. Oo, I'm hungry for more scent imagery. I like the blending of sense imagery. Subtle and gorgeous. And Toby says "comforts me in aaaaaallll
different ways?" and grins suggestively.

That is a brilliant image of the tickling music. And there's something vaguely Kubla Khan about the next line. I like teh simplicisty of teh next stanza, the pure hope of it, again that word.

Utopic indeed, but with humour also. I am perplexed by your last line. Of day being made of night. Following with tradition cliches of utopia it would be the other way around, and yet bringing in the warm and tenderness of the father and daughter, the warmth of that relationship, the night really does seem the more pure and uopic.

Bahahah tickling. Nice pastoral references.

Oh yeah sure she won't, until tomorrow night lol. Universal Awwwww...

Return to the style of the opening dialogue to create symmetry. I love it.

Simply magnanamous my angel one, truly a wonderous thing.