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Flor ran out of letters es un cuento de fantasía de la colección cuentos en inglés de la escritora  de cuentos infantiles Elizabeth Segoviano sugerido para jóvenes.

Flor was a girl, she was barely seven years old, and she was almost like all seven-year old little girls.

She was curious, playful, talkative, sweet, and sometimes she was used to throw tantrums, nevertheless, there was something that made of Flor a quite different kind of girl, she liked to write and tell stories, and they were really good! She had inherited that ability from his dear grandfather Marcus, who had been telling stories to Flor ever since she was in her mom’s tummy, and because of that,

Flor had been born with her mind full of letters, letters that turned into words, words that turned into phrases, and phrases that formed beautiful stories about fairies, heroes, knights, witches, magical animals, flying carpets, elves and enchanted pumpkins, and hundred … thousand of amazing characters came out of her words.

And every night, grandpa Marcus and Flor used to lay down under the stars to make up stories that were heard with much attention by fireflies and crickets, by flowers and the moon, by the cats on the rooftops and, of course, by the stars, who used to smile and twinkle with joy as they listened to Flor telling her stories.

Besides, at school, our little storyteller was very popular, for her friends always asked her to tell mystery stories, or grand tales of adventures, something about pirates, dragons or ghosts, and of course, Flor just loved that! But what Flor loved the most was to spend Sundays sited on her grandpa’s lap while they were typing together their stories on his very old and noisy typewriter.

Every now and then they stopped typing and Flor would made some drawings to illustrate their tales, because grandpa Marcus and Flor wanted to write lots and lots of books to make a library, so everyone who love tales as much as they did, could enjoy them.

But sometimes there are things that happen in life … things that no one wants to happen, but they happen anyway, and grandpa Marcus got sick, he spent many days in bed until one warm and clear night he closed his eyes and he went to that place where dreams are born, to that place we all come from but some how we don’t seem to remember clearly, he went there where shooting stars are born, to that place where fireflies end their journey, there, where stars turn into an endless waterfall of light, to that place where our hearts were made.

Since that moment something inside Flor broke down, her little seven-year old heart was left with a huge void, it was like one of those enormous black holes that wander the universe. Flor felt that her letters were slipping through that hole, and she only had a bunch of nothingness left …

As days went by Flor stopped telling stories, she didn’t type them and she wasn’t making drawings anymore, it was as if all the words in the world would have been erased, and at night, the garden where the girl and her grandfather used to tell stories went silent … and the crickets, the fairies, the flowers, the moon and the stars wondered what had happen to Flor, they didn’t understand why she wasn’t telling stories anymore.

After a while, Flor’s friends and parents would ask her to tell them fairy tales, they ask her to continue with the library she and her grandpa had dreamt and then Flor felt something different in her heart, it was like a little sparkle that was trying to lit a flame, but the spark wasn’t strong enough, it almost seemed like she only had inside a wet box of matches, a broken engine who wouldn’t start. Every time the little girl would take pencil and paper to start writing “Once upon a time” or “ A long, long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away” she couldn’t continue writing … she really didn’t have more letters inside!!!

With each try, the girl began to write less and less, the “once upon a time” became a “once upo …” and the “a long, long time ago” became a “a long, lon…” and so on and so on, until she could only write and “O” or an “A” and then, not even that.

She tried to write the ABCs but she could only write half an “A” in that moment she decided that it would be better to tell the stories instead of writing them down, so she gathered her family and friends in the garden and she began to say “In a Kingdom far, far away” … everyone were looking at her smiling, waiting to hear a fabulous story, but Flor for some reason could not continue, she took a deep breath, clear her throat and tried one again: “In a Kingdom …” hmmm … “In a king …” hmm … hmm … then, what Flor feared the most, happened SHE HAD RAN OUT OF LETTERS!!!

Doctors couldn’t find an explanation to what was happening to her, so they just recommended her to get some rest and to drink plenty of lemon tea with honey.

Flor was deeply sad, that little spark inside of her wouldn’t burn, the little engine that made her tell stories would only cough and smoke, her letters had slipped away through a huge black hole and all she had left was silence.

After looking for an answer for long time, Flor decided to read many books, as many as she could get, and so she read and read, devouring book after book, and she also thought that wouldn’t do any harm to eat plenty of letter soup that her mom cooked so deliciously, because she wanted to fill that hole in her heart with plenty of letters so se could tell stories once again.
Many days went by and those days became months, and little by little Flor could talk again, but it didn’t matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t tell stories anymore … but she continued eating her letter soup and reading a much as she could.

And one night Flor realized a whole year had passed since her grandfather had gone, so that night of full moon Flor went to the garden and laid down on the grass to look at the stars like she used to do, and she stared at the sky very quietly … and in that moment she heard it, it was like a murmur, but then she discovered it was a cry, so she looked around and she noticed all the tiny fairies from the garden along with the crickets, the snails, the flowers the moon and the stars were the ones crying, so Flor asked them why were they crying and they all said “BECAUSE NO ONE TELLS STORIES TO US ANYMORE!” Those words put a knot on Flor`s stomach and her eyes were filled with tears and she ran back into her house.

She slammed the door so hard that one of the manuscripts she had written with her grandfather Marcus fell off the bookshelf. Flor picked it up very carefully and she started to leaf through the book and to read the stories she and her grandpa had invented with so much love through so many Sundays … right at the end of the manuscript there was another page, one written by hand, it was her grandpa’s handwriting, it said: “my little one, maybe you can’t see me anymore, but it doesn’t mean that I am not with you, for I am each letter, each phrase that you and I had ever written, I am the rhythmical noise in our old beaten up type writer, I am the smell of paper and ink, I am every colour on your watercolour case, I am the softness of the grass where you lay down, I am some star that is watching over you, waiting for you to tell me more stories, I am a little piece of your heart, the piece that beats with joy when you imagine a new character and a new adventure, I am your history and your memories, you carry me with you when you scribble a new phrase, I am that little funny noise that your pencil makes on a fresh sheet of paper when you write in hurry so as to not loosing an idea, I am still with you my little one, we can meet on a white sheet of paper whenever you want to, or under the shimmering glow of the full moon”.

When Flor read those words she cried, but they where happy tears, because as usual, her grandpa was right, and he was there with her, on her letters and anywhere she would look to imagine a new story, Flor held the manuscript, kissed it, and then she put it back into it’s place on the bookshelf and then she dusted her old typewriter off and her stories began to flow just like magic, they were falling on the paper like fresh rain.

Flor began to tell her stories again under the stars to make them laugh because now she knew that her grandfather was one of them, and he was waiting eagerly to hear a new story, a new adventure, another tale to keep on laughing.

The little spark on Flor’s chest had finally started her fire, her engine was spinning at high speed, and the hole from which her letters had ran off was at last closed and now she could filled that void with stories.

The end

Elizabeth Segoviano © copyright 2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Ilustrated by Elizabeth Segoviano

Flor ran out of letters es un cuento de fantasía de la colección cuentos en inglés de la escritora  de cuentos infantiles Elizabeth Segoviano sugerido para jóvenes.

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