THE LITTLE MAMMOTH: MG Fantasy Feb 13, 2020 23:10:55 GMT -5
Post by apm on Feb 13, 2020 23:10:55 GMT -5
I appreciate any thoughts on this opening!
The pictures on the walls made her sad. They looked like her but much bigger, with huge humped furry backs and long trunks. So familiar, but she didn’t know them.
She ran her trunk over the pictures, touching the brown flank of the largest one. This one had the largest curving tusks, even whiter than the grey-white that surrounded them. She had tusks too, tiny little things that had just started to grow. The two-legged things in white coats had been happy when they first appeared. They had poked them and measured them with their tools, another thing about her for them to look at. There had been more of the boxes pointed at her, the ones that clicked and sometimes flashed. She didn’t like those.
She began to trot, moving in a line along the wall, and then the next one. The pictures on this one were full of green and blue, but there was nothing that looked like her. The next was all blue and white, with creatures that were tiny and had wings. Their legs, if they had any, didn’t even touch the ground. The final wall was empty, nothing but whiteness and then the door that opened sometimes, letting her go into the room that had food in it. The door was closed now, and that wall was boring, so she kept trotting until she was back at the wall with the pictures that looked like her. She stroked them with her trunk.
The pictures never changed. She kept trotting. She liked to move. And soon enough, the two-legged things would come for her and start their measurements. They always did. Maybe they would bring the small strange wall again, the one that let her see herself. The last time they had done that, they had stuck things to her fur, and had seemed happy when she pulled them off with her trunk after seeing them in the strange wall.
She heard a click. The two-legged ones were early today!
“Hello,” she said, raising her trunk, but they never understood her. They chattered in their two-legged way, high pitched noises that never made sense. They were small little things, the tallest of them the height of her shoulder. They were fragile, too, and would squeak and try to push her away if she ever leaned against them. She sometimes remembered leaning against something warm and soft, something that sang to her, but it was only from dreams. Her whole life had been spent here in this room or in the rooms with the measurements, her only companions the pictures. They weren’t warm when she leaned against them.
The smaller one of the two-legged things had a higher pitched voice, and made noises at her, waving its arm like a trunk. She followed it. Maybe they would show her herself again, or maybe it would be another day of picking up small objects and putting them in things.
Usually they turned right in the long hallway. But this time, the two-leg went left.
She paused. This was different.