In a land not far from here, in a time not distant from our own,

There lived a small young fletcher boy in a forest, all alone.

 

 

There he stayed all by himself, without a single guide.

For his parents, on a rafting trip, fell in the river and quickly died.

 

 

All the boy had to remember them was a small and secret note.

It instructed him of what he must do to keep his life a-float.

 

 

The note was etched in delicate word, and was obviously done with care.

And the boy held it a treasure, keeping him from the grip of despair.

 

 

The note was folded carefully in two, preventing his prying eyes.

It said simply “When you’re 12…”, masked with such great guise.

 

 

But he followed the note’s only rule and waited for the moment

When the day would arrive that he could escape such anxious torment.

 

 

That day did finally come, and he was close a man.

Knowing of his prize, he tore open the letter and read his parents’ plan:

 

 

“Oh dear son, if you have this, something ill has become of us,

But you be strong and take care of yourself – don’t you make a fuss.”

 

 

“Now that you’re 12, ‘tis time to leave our old forgotten house.

You must venture through the woods to City, quickly as a mouse.”

 

 

“When you get to City, take this note to the local old man.

“He’ll care for you when you find him, as best as he can.”

 

 

“If dear son, you should lose your way on this great long trip,

“Be careful to follow the river, and the bridge: do not skip.”

 

 

“With this, our son, we leave you to your deed.”

“We love you son. Be safe; that’s your only need.”

 

 

With a tear strolling down his gentle cheek, the boy rose and stood strong.

He said out loud, “Yes parents, I will!  I’ll be in City before long!”

 

 

He gathered up his belongings, and wiped away the tears,

For he was happy – this was his first adventure in years!

 

 

He took some things which he held dear and thought could help along the way:

First, he took a tiny brooch of his Mother’s, with which he used to play.

 

 

Next he took a folded cloth, with his Father’s initials written on it,

He said to himself, “Boy, if this was lost, why Father’d have a fit!”

 

 

Finally, he took the small gold watch which he was given on his 10^th birthday.

“That watch was my father’s, and his father’s and his”, Father used to say.

 

 

And so began the journey of the little fletcher boy,

So grown up for 12 years old; owning not even a single toy!

 

 

From his house, he crossed the bridge and began down the beaten road.

‘Twas the first time he left his island house; he felt himself so old!

 

 

And so he walked, day after day,

With sun and moon guiding his way.

 

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

 

 

Three days had past and his walk had not ended, with no sign of his destination.

And the boy began to worry, but stood strong in his determination.

 

However, when the fifth day came, he was lost within the trees.

And he sat down and cried, tears carried across the quiet breeze.

 

 

He yelled out, “Oh dear Mother, oh Father, could you please,

“Help me escape this terrible forest! I’m begging, on my knees!”

 

 

But there was no answer, and he now knew, that he truly was alone.

And with that vicious discovery, he began to moan.

 

 

He conceded to the forest, and fell at its great feet.

He had no will to continue, he had fallen in defeat.

 

 

And when all hope was gone, and the boy prepared to die,

A small little frog hopped and landed, a twinkle in its eye.

 

 

The boy looked at the frog, at first in disbelief,

But then in melancholy stride said, “Oh frog, seeing you is a relief.”

 

 

“Here I thought I’d die alone, but you’ve come to comfort me.”

“How noble you are my sweet, little frog - a prince, yes!, you must be.”

 

 

The frog stared at him, slowly bobbing its little head.

Then hopped up into the sunlight: “Follow me”, it almost said.

 

 

And so the boy did follow it, not sure of its wily ways,

But he thought, “Well this is better then staying in the forest for the rest of my days.”

 

 

Through the withered trees, and round the mossy knolls,

The frog lead him through water and muck, and ‘round the angry trolls.

 

 

The frog’s path was hoppy and jagged, but never went astray,

In fact, the boy began to enjoy the quest, it was almost as if play.

 

 

He pictured himself a mighty warrior, running through the field of war.

Brandishing a great sword; outward vicious, but gallant at his core.

 

He pictured himself a cunning hero; that of a great thief of lore,

Running through the forest, robbing rich and hailing poor.

 

 

He pictured himself a cunning magician, under some King’s court.

For his own sinister ways, visions of the future he could contort.

 

 

He pictured himself a thousand things, all of which were great.

But he soon realized he lost the frog, and it was getting late.

 

 

His imagination ran so far, it had left destruction in its wake,

For he was now lost again, and no more of it could he take.

 

 

It was then he had a striking moment, when looking at the night-sky.

He felt against his side, reached in his pocket and again did cry.

 

 

He remembered the treasured gifts he brought, and what they meant to him.

And now pondering why he brought them, recalled they chosen not by whim.

 

 

He put the brooch, his Mother’s prize, onto the dirty ground.

And said “Oh Mother, guide me now. I seek only to be found.”

 

 

And the moon then did, so high in the sky, begin to conjure a path.

A brightly moon-lit trail lead to City, and the forest subdued its wrath.

 

 

He followed it, without a care, for he knew what he had done.

The moon was now guiding him, and next would be the sun.

 

 

As he ran, he imagined the City to be life’s highest ideal,

But was soon before its majesty, the prophesized end of his ordeal.

 

 

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

 

 

Entering the City was enough to make him wary,

But his courage kept him strong, alleviating the weight he had to carry.

 

 

He stared towards the heavens, hoping to see the sun or moon in bloom,

But the buildings grew: too tall, too fast, and for the sky was made no room.

 

 

He rambled through the concrete prison, trying to find his goal.

And he asked the passing townspeople: withered women, and men covered in coal.

 

 

But none of the citypeople could spare him a minute of their time,

For this was the big City; they knew not music, not peace, nor rhyme.

 

 

And again he found himself lost and trapped, in a newly constructed forest,

Of crimson heights and terrible frights, filled with animals: the sorest.

 

 

He found a map, in the center of City that was set upon a cobblestone back,

And with it he was able to locate the old man’s tiny shack.

 

 

He carefully teetered through the prison: past workers, tailors and crime.

His heart and head a-flutter with action - this was all so sublime.

 

 

When he finally reached the shanty of this old forgotten soul,

He now knew his Father was truly dead, for the old man would fill that role.

 

 

He crept inside, slowly and shyly, not sure of what he was to find,

And from behind him the old man said, sternly, without mind:

 

 

“Wat’r’ya doin’ ‘ere, me boy? Tink a second yee may waste?

“’Tis not the place to play ‘ere, boy – you’ll be t’rned i’to paste!”

 

The boy screamed aloud and hid behind a small and broken chair.

The old man leapt at the poor boy, giving him quite a scare.

 

 

“Wat’r’ya doin’ ‘ere, me boy?”, to which the boy replied.

“I’ve come on my parents command…”, to which the old man sighed.

 

 

“Ah, yar Margret’s boy, I’see. Well cum den boy, ull ‘ork for me.”

“And wen yar back be brok’n and burnt, the value of a penny u’ll ‘ave learnt!”

 

 

 

And with that the old man cackled like a witch, and scary as one too.

So the boy stood silent - frustrated, frizzled and frightened – for he knew not what to do.

 

 

He planned and plotted, that night as he slept, for a way to escape his capture.

He needed to free himself of this strange and cruel rapture.

 

 

And finally an idea came to him, and he knew just what to do.

He took the folded cloth from his satchel and rolled it round and through.

 

 

When he had fashioned a perfect mask, he put it on his face.

And then recalled his dreams of the thief of lore, and crept about the place.

 

 

He slowly went into the room of the slumbering old witch.

And just as he was about to play the sneak, he heard and felt the flicking of a switch.

 

 

The old man, blind with his eyes, thought the boy a thief

And yelled and screamed, “Out o’ere ya scoundrel, or mah sw’rd ‘ill be unsheathed!”

 

 

And with that the boy was free; his plan had worked just so.

But the boy was lost again, for he knew now not where to go.

 

 

He wandered round the City, as a lost boy tends to do,

But as he stared at the gold watch, he daftly watched as time flew.

 

 

The days and nights passed in that City, and the sun and moon were not found.

He pined so grievously to see the sparkling mystic faces of familiar round.

 

And so he sat and cried away, wasting every last tear.

He realized that, all along, it was as he did fear.

 

 

He had become one of them: a forgotten son of the City slum.

His journey now had an end, he had to return from where he’d come.

 

 

And so he ran and ran some more, until he was again lost in green,

The forest swallowed him once more, but this time it wasn’t mean.

 

 

It welcomed him with open arms, for it knew he’d found his calling.

He was a forest boy, one with nature, and forever ceased his bawling.

 

 

With the last of his possessions, the golden watch of times ago,

He remembered his ascendants, and placed it near some flowers in a row.

 

 

And when the watch had felt the tender soil, a great light struck upon it,

The sun was beating down, and crafted a serene and somber sonnet.

 

 

The boy stared back into the sun and remembered his Father’s wish:

For him to start a family and keep their house, and always eat hearty fish.

 

 

So he went back to his home, within the dense green maze.

But this time he had no trouble, and soon the house was in his gaze.

 

 

When settled in his cabin, he journeyed down the stream

To the small village of Town and asked for the beautiful girl he had once seen.

 

 

She was a young country girl, whose father was his Father’s friend

And Father told him once that she and the boy would marry in the end.

 

 

He went to her and told her of his epic tale,

And with that she had fallen, underneath love’s forceful gale.

 

 

 

And with permission of her father, he whisked her away to his little abode.

And when they got there, they brushed away the beaten road.

 

 

And so began the family, a new generation of the Town folk.

They lived and laughed and loved and cried, and when the time came, he finally spoke.

 

 

He gathered his children in front of him when he was getting old,

And said to them, “This is important - you’ll remember what you’re told.”

 

 

“Oh dear children, you’re hearing this, in case something has happened to us,

But you be strong and take care of yourselves – don’t you make a fuss.”

 

 

“Now that you’re all 12, you’re ready to leave our old forgotten house.

You must venture through the woods to City, quickly as a mouse.”

 

 

And with that, he stared over at his wife and summoned her to his side.

And they walked out of the house together, towards the river’s tide.

 

 

To the house, he called back to his children who stood there:

“We’re going on a rafting trip. Please children, do take care”.

 

 

And with that the couple left, towards the now vacant river.

The wife began to cry. Knowing what was coming, she began to quiver.

 

 

He looked at her, with loving eyes, and said softly to her ears:

“This is the only way they’ll learn what took me so many years”.

 

 

The children would grow and learn, as he did, the ways of this cruel land.

But they would receive the same help he received by his Mother and Father’s hand.

 

 

For upon the table in the house, was left the same three gifts to last:

A cloth with his initials, a brooch of hers, and that watch of generations past.

 

 

And with his mission accomplished, a new ring around the tree was placed.

The journey was tough, but over, and many demons had he faced.

 

 

As they slowly drifted down the river of relived life,

He looked over and realized he had lost his wife.

 

 

So he floated alone, as he had once been before,

And again he thought himself a creature of some lost old lore.

 

 

And when his time was up, and he was summoned to leave this wretched place,

He said, out loud, one final poem, with happiness on his face:

I've spent all of every day
Chasing the dream of dismay
To fill this empty space
Which I cannot replace.

So now, young children, leave me.
Your memories will always be.
I will not forget what my parents dreamed,
As I fall to my knees -  nothing was as it seemed.

Take me now, great guide.
Wisk me away in your tide.
I've done all I can,
Show me your plan.

 

 

 *                     *                      *                      *                      *         

Critical Analysis

“Fletcher Boy” by Frank Caron

 

 

            For this final essay, I decided to give the “create your own fairy tale” topic a shot. I haven’t had a chance to do a lot of creative writing in University yet, so I thought this would be a great chance to flex that creativity muscle.

 

            By utilizing some of the important concepts and themes that are found within the body of Children’s Literature, I have attempted to write a humbling story about materialism and industrialism in our society today. I have always wished to be less materialistic, but it’s very hard to live in that manner in our day and age. Thus, my only opportunity to really pass my thoughts on the terrible backlash of materialism is through writing. This story deals indirectly with these issues by exploring the journey of a young and innocent boy who must venture to the big city after his parent’s death. When he finally arrives, he realizes that it is not a place that he wishes to stay in – it embodies everything that he considers wrong and evil. After many tests and trials, he is finally able to escape his industrial prison, and returns from the land which he came.

 

            The most important, and obvious, thematic similarities between this work and the rest of Children’s Literature lie opaquely within the body of the story. The constant juxtaposition of Sun and Moon to Father and Mother is something that I strived to make visible throughout the work. It demonstrates the need for parental guidance, or even just guidance in general, through the journey of life. This usage of Sun and Moon was carefully implemented to be “missing” when he finally reaches City, demonstrating his true lack of direction during that time.

 

            The frog, who has a brief roll, serves to transit the main character from the world of the good to the world of the bad. The frog serves to take the child past the brink of familiarity and comfort, into the new land of strange sights and discomfort. This follows from his crossing of the river as he leaves his house. The picture I tried to conjure of the child’s house was a small cabin that was surrounded by a key-shaped river. He then crosses the river, and follows it towards City.

 

            Some of the other aspects I tried to include were the cyclical journey. Evidently, the journey starts with his parents passing on to him a life lesson, and he in turn ends his life with the passing of that same lesson to his children. I also tried to include some other magical elements; the embodiment of his mother and father through the items with which he takes on his journey is supposed to act as a reminder of his eternal guides. The sun and moon, as well, are described by the character as “sparking mystic faces of round”. This description serves to demonstrate to the reader that the sun and moon have a magical significance – namely, the connection to Father and Mother.

 

            More syntactically, I tried to make the story universal. The careful reader will notice a few specific things: firstly, there are no proper names outside of Mother, Father, City and Town; secondly, the proper names that are in the story were chosen to be completely abstract. That is, City could be taken as any large City, whereas town evokes an image of a small collection of house in a village. I chose to capitalize Mother and Father to create the distinction of the main character’s parents over the other characters parents. This was done to create a focus; I don’t want the reader to consider the wife a character at all, in fact, I tried to make the story sex-independent, but it proved to be more difficult then initially estimated. My main purpose in this was to create a sexless main character – the wife and the fletcher boy should be instantly alterable to the husband and the fletcher girl.

 

            All of these different concept usages surmount to the story that follows this analysis. I took a lot of time into creating this story, and I believe it accurately reflects some of the beliefs that I would want to imbue my children with. I realize that it is slightly longer then this assignment specified, but I needed to finish the story with adequate wording and will take any mark loss that results from this.