THE BOUNCING BUBBLES OF HOPELESS BAY

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Children Stories  |  House: Booksie Classic
They say there is always a good story in everything that goes wrong.
So this will be a very good story, indeed, for everything in it went wrong.
And it was the last story left in the world.

Submitted: August 29, 2012

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Submitted: August 29, 2012

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THE BOUNCING BUBBLES OF HOPELESS BAY

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They say there is always a good story in everything that goes wrong.

So this will be a very good story, indeed, for everything in it went wrong.

And it was the last story left in the world.

Once, deep in the heart of the Enchanted Midnight Forest, a mischievous nor’wester wind

Blew the last Storybook left in the world off the legendary Story Tree. Over towns and farms the wind carried it. Across rivers and oceans the wind flew the Storybook before finally dropping it on the rainy, deserted shores of Hopeless Bay on the Island of Nowhere in the middle of the Somewhere Sea.

The soggy Storybook was sopping wet. It’s title was smeared past recognition and the words on the rain soaked pages inside were blurred beyond the reading of them. Also, it

Had a very bad cold. But there it patiently waited to be found and given a new story with a new title. For now it had neither.

It did not have long to wait.

“Ah, choo!” greeted the sneezing Storybook to the two orphan children who discovered it on the beach and brought it back to their tree house home. No one knew the children’s names or where they had come from, not even the children. So they raised themselves alone, bouncing about like the bubbles of Hopeless Bay in the middle of the Somewhere Sea that surrounded their solitary Island of Nowhere home. And they became known as the Bouncing Bubbles of Hopeless Bay.

“Why are you such a soggy-ness mess of a story-less Storybook?” the first orphan asked it.

“When my words all got smeared up and gone, my stories disappeared along with them,” said the Storybook.

“You talk!” exclaimed the second orphan.


“Of course I talk. All storybooks talk. How else could we communicate with rude little children who think we can’t talk to tell them that we can, said the Storybook.” Then it had nothing more to say. And for the first time in their brief unhappy lives, neither did the children. So all those unspoken nothings screamed their silences through the tiny tree house home.

It was the Storybook who finally broke the oppressive quiet. “I used to live on the topmost branch of the Story Tree in the Enchanted Midnight Forest before the Nor’wester wind blew me here,” it explained. “If I show you the way, will you carry me back home?”

“Yes!” answered the delighted children sensing a great new adventure. “Then maybe the

Story Tree will help us find a new story to live in,” said one orphan. “Yes,” agreed the other. “It’s too lonely in this one.”

So they tore down the tree house, hammered together a houseboat from its wood and tied an old beach towel to a board as a sail to catch the wind. Then they stored in provisions,

Then they stored in provisions, launched it into the water and sailed away with the

story-less Storybook from the shores of Hopeless Bay on the Island of Nowhere in the middle of the Somewhere Sea to find the legendary Story Tree growing in the

Enchanted Midnight Forest.

Little did they know their lives were about to change forever.

Ah! But the Storybook knew and said nothing.

They had not sailed far when the sou’wester wind, who was even more mischievous than its brother the nor’wester wind, suddenly whipped up a giant wave that plunged them deep into uncharted waters. ‘Round, ‘round and around the wily wind whirled the helpless houseboat. Down, down and down it swirled, twirling the helpless houseboat. Down, down and down it swirled, twirling itself into a funneling tunnel of icy water that sunk the houseboat, thud! to the very bottom of the Somewhere Sea, then abandoned it on a glob of floating seaweed that rode them along as in a watery dream. Over shoals and

shallows they were borne. Past sunken, rusting shipwrecks and barnacled encrusted treasure chests they flowed. By bony seahorses, nightmarish fish and the occasional mermaid they drifted. On and on and on. Forever on.

“Ah, choo!” sneezed the Storybook finally breaking the long silence of their watery journey.

“Are we there yet?” asked one of the children.

“We’ll know soon enough” answered the over revving up the motor, grabbing the wheel and steering their houseboat back up, up, up from the bottom of the sea to its surface. “Well, we must be somewhere because we’re still here in the middle of the

Somewhere Sea,” said the Storybook absent-mi9ndedly leafing through its blank pages to dry them.

“What’s that?” It stopped abruptly. For a brand new word had now mysteriously

appeared on the first page. “Ah, choo!”

The Storybook smiled, then closed its pages and told no one.

“Land ahoy!” proclaimed the triumphant Storybook sighting its Enchanted Midnight Forest home in the distance. “All ashore who’s going shore!”

The two excited children jump0ed out, moored the houseboat in a cove, and

With the Storybook guiding their way, off they all headed deep into the Enchanted Mid-

Night Forest to find the Storybook’s legendary Story Tree Home.

“What a ride!” the Storybook secretly scribbled on page two of its new story.

“What a ride!”

*

Now the winter snow fell upon the Enchanted Midnight Forest. And the silent

waiting of it weighed upon them all as they trudged their way through it. The snow mantled each thing it touched, which was everything, as they followed the path that was walking them to the Storybook’s home.

Suddenly they were there. For looming grandly above them towered the majestic

Story Tree illuminating its radiant beauty of eternal wisdom and grace and humble

Knowingness of all things good.

“Home!” cried the joyous Storybook running to it, pages flapping happily in the fluffy

flurry of first falling snow.

“Ah!” There you are my naughty little Storybook,” laughingly chided the

Story Tree to its errant child. “It seems I have been waiting a thousand forevers for your

Return. Wherever did you get to?” it asked, already knowing full well the answer. Then

Bending down its topmost branch the Story Tree gently lifted the Storybook back up into its beloved Story Tree home.

But the children were in tears.

“Stories always seem to come and go quite suddenly,’ said the Story Tree comforting them, for he knew their sadness. “But endings are really only beginnings, don’t you think? So come,” he invited. “Sit beneath me.”

“Now, my little ones,” it asked them, “what can I gift you for returning my lost

Story book safely back to me?”

“Please Mr. Story Tree, will you help us find a new story to live in,” answered one orphan.

“It’s lonely living in this one,” added the other.

 

“But then what will become of the story you are living in now?” asked the

Story Tree. “You don’t just throw your old story away, you know. It’s simply not done.”

Now for the second time in their brief, unhappy lives the children had nothing to say.

It was, as usual, the Storybook who finally spoke. “We are all writing our own story. So

if you gift your old story to me,” it kindly suggested, “I will put it into my new story. Then they will both be finished, and you can write another and another. And whoever reads them will live in those, too. Forever. Because that is what happens when a story is

read.”

“Bravo!” boomed the Story Tree thundering its approval. “And I’ll always be here to help. For we all must each find out own story to live in.”

So the Bouncing Bubbles of Hopeless Bay set out to find theirs.

They searched the world for a very long time. And when they had finished searching and still not found it, they went far beyond this world to that place in space where endings have no beginnings and beginnings and beginnings have no end. And that is where they found it. Way out there.

 

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