Shedangel's Story

It was a harshly brisk morning. The gray colored leaves fell over top of the seemingly unaware ground below. Fog had made it enormously hard for anything to be seen. My heart sank into a deep pit of depression, but I didn't show my tears, for I had be strong. There was no need for me to go to pieces when many people would be later and they will need me to help them get through it.I needed to keep myself together to attend the funeral. I have always felt as though everything was weighing on my shoulders. Now destiny and time had finally won the battle against my grandmother. The dejecting funeral was dreary and felt as though it lasted eternity. I moved into the house that my grandmother so graciously left me in her will. It was unkept, for she lived alone and couldn't keep up with the housework during her advancing years. First things first. I had to get rid of the junk, and everyone knows you work from top to bottom. So I climbed the winding staircase that led to the Attic. As I was going through the attic deciding what was trash or what was treasure. I found an beautiful, dusty, and very old cedar chest. The chest was filled with antique, late eighteenth century, elegant ball room dancing dresses. They were in perfect condition, as if they had been worn once then put away for treasured memories.I undoubtibly put this in my "keep" pile. As I tried with all my might to carry the heavy load my foot fell though a weak board in the floor. I dropped the chest and tryed to release my foot form the hole that held my foot captive. As I pulled my foot loose I noticed something under the floor board. It was a book, a journal. You could tell that it was old but it was well kept. My curiosity got the best of me and I sat on the cedar chest, opened the cover and began to read. The first page showed a detailed hand drawn map. What I read on the next couple pages confused me. It was a story that my Grandmom had told me for a bedtime story so many times before, But why on earth would she write it in her journal? She told me that it was a true story and my reply would usually be something like " My favorite part was with the Shnale and with the bunniefly. Tell it again grandma" Now you must remember I was a child then. As I sit in thought wondering if this could be true. I walked to the phone. What should I do? You choose to ask a friend or You choose to hear more before jumping to conclusions

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