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http://cnt24.stumbleupon.com/review/13299476/

Tue, 09 Oct 2007 04:52:58 -0700

What heck is wrong with me? Here's another generation from the Proppian Fairy Tale Generator:

I left with these things, the only things left in a house barren. I left wearing the leather-bottomed shoes grandmother blessed before she died. I left mother nibbling on her fingers in want of food.

As I closed my eyes I could hear my father's voice guide me along the hidden pathways of the mountain unbeknownst to boys who sit and watch the sun rise and fall in their beds.

http://cnt24.stumbleupon.com/review/12790546/

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 14:01:42 -0700

If I could only write this fast! That proppian Fairy Tale Generator keeps calling me. I don't know why I'm wasting time playing with it, but I keep going back for more.

Here's my third generation:

I gave him my satchel and shoes as he asked me, then I shed my clothes as he advised me to do. "Wear this," he said, and he shed his own skin. It fell off in a pile on the soil floor looking like a tablecloth used in my home. When I clothed myself in his skin I no longer smelled like my home or the valley. Instead I became like the men on the mountain. I smelled distinctly foreign. I thanked the man and watched as he dressed himself in my own clothes. He said he would wear them until new skin grew on his back.

When I returned home Mother was not there. Instead, there was a man leaning against our door, sipping guava juice through a straw. He told me the lady of the house had left to search for her son, and that he had taken residence. I looked down on him and winced. His feet stank of manure.

As mother embraced me, she looked at my brothers with great disdain and hurt.

http://cnt24.stumbleupon.com/review/12762626/

Wed, 19 Sep 2007 14:29:43 -0700

Okay, here's my second generation from the proppian Fairy Tale Generator:

"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine country men.

"If you are my son then where are your father's leather bottomed shoes and ring?"

Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.