Out of the Fire, into the Cold

I saw him running like mad in the night. I looked around - no one was following him, so I asked him:

- What are you running from?

- I just escaped the great fire.

- What fire?

- Haven’t you heard? The fire that burned down the Great Library.

- Gosh! I did not know... So, how did you get out?

- When the flames reached the first chapter of Green and Yellow, Black and Snow, I jumped off the pages, then off the shelf and left the burning library running for my life.

- Excuse my ignorance, but what book is Green and Yellow, Black and Snow? And - pardon my boldness - what is your name?

- My name is Tontinto, and Green and Yellow, Black and Snow is the book where I was born and where I lived until today. It’s a rather new book, maybe this is why you did not hear about it.

And he started crying so hard that I began shedding huge tears, too. After a while, I asked him:

- Tontinto, were there many survivors?

- Oh, lots and lots, it looked like rush hour. Practically everybody got out, you know, they were running around, there was panic, but I saw all the clowns, I saw Winnie the Pooh, and Alice, and Dorothy, I saw Hänsel and Gretel holding hands while running, and Cinderella, and Snow White, a bunch of witches, and the Wizard. Plus a lot of others I don’t know well: Hamlet, and Phaedra, and Aeneas, Jonah, Odette, Marcel the Sensitive - all running (well, not all, an old guy, Oedipus, was limping and jumping) and calling each other’s names. There were too many to remember them all.

- And the dragons, the dinosaurs, the flying horses...?

- Yup, all of them are safe. I think that they are roaming around now in the cold. I feel so bad for them. Some of them rode on elephants, some on dinosaurs; the flying carpets and horses were booked solid, you can imagine. On a large carpet I saw Simbad, the Little Mermaid, Alladin, the forty thieves, Don Quixote, and the seven dwarfs flying away.

- So no one was left behind, Tontinto, right?


- Not quite, there were the salamanders and a funny bird called Phoenix, I think. A few of us tried to go back and save them, but there was a group of women who were holding hands and were singing all the time who did not let us pass. Funes, a great guy with whom I made friends, remembered that they were called the chorus, and said that you should not mess with them. But, anyway, the salamanders and the bird were dancing and playing in the fire, and as they seemed to enjoy themselves there, we left. And you know what? I think that a dragon set the library on fire, but I cannot be too sure.

- Wow, what a story! I said. And where are all of them now?

- They all got lost, like me. And they have no place to return to - the books are gone, my book is gone. I have no home....

And he started crying again, it broke my heart. Tontinto needs a home so badly... but what can I do? I am not a good storyteller, I gave him shelter in this story for a few minutes, but he needs a good story to live in. Is there anyone around who wants to write a story and be a foster writer for poor Tontinto? He is round like a ball and green like a frog, has two eyes on the same side of his head - the other is the dark side of Tontinto. He is a very nice chap, speaks a little French, and used to be a funny jester in his book.

Please help! Anyone?



Ilinca, Andrei & Călin-Andrei Mihăilescu

"... am recitit povestea, mi-am amintit de ziua in care am scris-o, acum vreo opt ani, sarind din asternuturi spre cana de cafea, printre pijamalele lor cu girafe si pinguini; copiii sint acum mari, adica nu mai sint copii in casa - ar trebui sa fac ceva. iar rick wakeman-ul de pe blogul tau nu e mai putin nostalgic."