These stories are the intellectual property of Elizabeth K. Grant,
and may not be copied, reproduced or distributed without her express permission.



The Flute
By Elizabeth Grant, Copyright 2002

A long time ago when the world was fresh and the air was still new and clean, there was a little boy named Nicholas, who lived with his father out in the woods. They were very poor and his mother had died a long time ago. When his mother died, she had given him one thing - a beautiful wooden flute. When she was well, she had played it and Nicholas would dance. There were many memories in that flue. And Nicholas loved it more than life itself. After his mother's death, his father had grown cold and hard. He cared for no one anymore, and forbade Nicholas to play the flute in his presence. So often as he could, Nicholas would take up the flute and walk through the woods on a trail he and his mother had made together, and play to his heart's content. One dark, cold night, early in the winter, his father confronted Nicholas. "Winter has come hard," his father said. "We have little food and less money. We must sell something so we can be fed." "Grandfather's old clock!" said Nicholas, pointing to the mantel piece. "It is an antique and should sell very well." So they sold the clock and made it through the first month of winter. The next month, Nicholas father approached him again, "Winter has come hard," his father said. "We little food and less money. We must sell something so we can be fed." "Grandmother's dress!" said Nicholas. "It is very beautiful and should sell well." Nicholas was sad to lost the clock and the dress, but they made it through the next few weeks well. Then Nicholas' father approached him yet again. "Winter has come hard," his father said. "We have little food and less money. We must sell something so we can be fed." "Your old lamp!" said Nicholas. "It works like new and will sell fairly." So they sold the lamp and made it through a couple of weeks more. Soon, Nicholas' father approached him a fourth time. "Winter has come hard," his father said. "We have little food and less money. We must sell something so we can be fed." "My old shoes!" cried Nicholas, before his father could finish. "They are sturdy but worn, and should sell poorly." So they sold the shoes and barely made it through another week. At last, his father approached him yet again. "Winter has come hard," his father said. "We have little food and less money. We must sell something so we can be fed." Knowing he had no choice, Nicholas sighed softly and said, "Yes father, but please...give me one more night with it. The next night, a particularly harsh, cold winter night, Nicholas' father came to get the flute. "NO!" he screamed, and ran out the door. He ran through the woods so fast that he soon lost the trail. Exhausted, he sat down next to a tree and shivered as he pulled the flute from his pocket and began to play, a song of love, forgiveness and warmth. As his beautiful song swirled through the air, the hardest heart softened, the sickest person healed, the coldest beggar warmed. He played of the things he had never had, and the things he'd never dreamed. He played until the cold and sadness overcame him, and he was scooped up in his mother's arms, and carried to a better place. The next morning, a hunter came upon the frozen body of a young boy by a tree in the woods. But the flute was nowhere to be found. Sometimes, though... on cold winter nights, when the wind draws its soft fingers through the trees, if you listen closely, you can hear him playing a beautiful song, ... for the boy, his mother, and his flute... are finally together once again.