Sweet Pea and Marigold

This is a short story written for young children. It is about two fairies, Sweet Pea and Marigold. They are best of friends, but something comes between them. Will they sort it? Read and find out.

Once, when gold still sparkled at the end of the rainbow, there lived a flower fairy named Sweet Pea.  Sweet Pea lived in a little fairy cottage with her very best friend, Marigold.

Upon rising every morning, Sweet Pea would build a fire.  The toasty fire would quickly warm the cottage.  It is just as well, for even the summers are cold on the frosty slopes of Mount Never-Rest.

Sweet Pea and Marigold would make a hot breakfast every day.  Sweet Pea would start, “I would really like some…”

“… toast,” Marigold would finish.

Then Sweet Pea would say, “Yes, with a little…”

And Marigold would finish, “… honey.”  Then they would giggle, for they both thought it funny when Marigold would finish what Sweet Pea had started. 

Sweet Pea and Marigold would sit by their little fairy table by the fire.  Sweet Pea would sip hot raspberry tea.  Marigold did not like raspberry tea.  She would wrinkle her nose at the smell, but she never so much as whispered to Sweet Pea that she didn’t like it.  She did not want Sweet Pea to enjoy her tea any less.

Breakfast often ran into brunch, because Sweet Pea and Marigold so enjoyed talking by the fire.  Everybody knows fairies like talking, especially flower fairies.

Sooner or later, it would be time to clear breakfast from the table.  The crusts of toast would go in the bin.  Fairies don’t eat crusts.  Everybody knows that, too.  Sweet Pea would wash the crockery and Marigold would dry them with a cloth. Sometimes Marigold would wash them, but not very often.  She did not like it when the water wrinkled her skin.

One day, when Sweet Pea went to put her crusts in the bin, she saw that it was full.  Sweet Pea did not empty it.  She thought it time that Marigold did, because Sweet Pea had emptied it several days before.  She left the crusts on top of the trash.

A little later, Sweet Pea went into the kitchen to make some raspberry tea.  She saw that the bin was still full.  She frowned, and put the used tea bag on top of the crusts.  She looked over at Marigold, sitting by the fire.  Marigold was toying with her pixie phone.  Sweet Pea thought to tell Marigold to empty the bin, but she didn’t.  Marigold would see it when next she went in the kitchen, and empty it.

But Marigold didn’t.  From her warm spot in her fairy armchair by the fire, Sweet Pea watched Marigold put coloured sprinkles on a slice of freshly-baked white bread.  She watched as Marigold carefully cut the crusts off her fairy bread, and she frowned as Marigold placed the crusts on top of the tea bag.

Sweet Pea was cross.  She thought about sprinkling a little fairy dust to make the whole bin disappear, but she knew that fairy dust is not for such things.  Flower fairies must only ever use their fairy dust to make flowers bloom, and then only a sprinkle.  On the snowy slopes of Mount Never-Rest much fairy dust was needed, for mountain flowers live on nothing but fairy dust and sunlight.

Soon Marigold returned to warm her hands by the fire.  Sweet Pea sat forward in her fairy armchair.  Just about as politely as she could, she said, “Mari, next time you’re in the kitchen can you please empty the bin?”

Marigold nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

When Sweet Pea went about the cottage that night to shut all the shutters, she noticed that the bin was still full.  In fact, yet more rubbish had been placed on the rubbish already there.  Sweet Pea’s brow was tired from wearing a frown, but she could do little else.  She went to bed hoping that Marigold would empty the bin in the morning.   

She rose early next morning to build the fire, but Marigold was already up.  She was boiling eggs on the stove.  Sweet Pea watched her cut up soldiers to eat with her eggs.  Then she saw Marigold balance the broken egg shells and crusts of bread on top of the growing pile of rubbish.  Sweet Pea had had as much as she could take.

“Mari, it’s your turn to empty the bin,” she said crossly.  Marigold looked at her and nodded.   Then she went from the kitchen to her armchair, without emptying the bin.  Sweet Pea glared at the back of her head, but before she could say any more, her pixie phone bleeped.  It was a text message to remind her that the snow bells were in need of some magic.  In a huff, she snatched up the pouch of fairy dust on the end table by the door.  In her haste, she dropped it, spilling the precious fairy dust all over the floor.

“This is your fault, Mari!” Sweet Pea snapped.  Marigold jumped a little in her armchair, and stared back at Sweet Pea with wide eyes.  She blinked rapidly, and a tear started to roll down her cheek.

“Whatever did I do wrong?” she said.  Sweet Pea grabbed up the pouch with the remaining dust.  She wrenched open the door, slamming it behind her.  Her wings beat the air angrily as she flew off.

Sweet Pea had not gone very far when she began to feel very sorry.  She set down on the snowy ground.  Shutting her eyes tightly, she wished with all her fairy might that she and Marigold would remain best friends.  Sadness filled her heart as she went slowly around the snow bells sprinkling them with fairy dust.  She was in no hurry to go home.

Then, all at once, her pixie phone bleeped.  She had a new text message.  She opened the phone and read the message.  It simply read: ‘Rubbish is out. Friends again?’

Sweet Pea cried the whole way home, but she was no longer sad.  She was so, so happy that she and Marigold were friends again.  As she hurried back to the cottage, she realised that nothing in the whole of fairyland was more important than a true friend.

Marigold was waiting by the open door of the cottage.  In her hands was a fresh pot of steaming hot raspberry tea.  Sweet Pea thought it so kind that she gave Marigold a big hug.  Then they both went and sat in their fairy armchairs by the fire.

Today, whenever the bin is close to full, Marigold empties it right away.  And she always has a pot of sweet raspberry tea for Sweet Pea when she comes in from the cold.

  

 

 

Author's Note

Any comments would be appreciated. I would also like to know if you have a better idea for the rather generic title.

Reviews

[Dean Kuch®]

You could call it "SWEET PEA TEA AND MARIGOLD RUBBISH", give the title a bouncy little flair...or not?
I liked the title as well as the story. My kids do this to me quite frequently, piling heaps upon heaps of garbage on an already overflowing trash bin, and it infuriates me to no end! however, unlike Marigold, I am usually the one that ends up taking it out!
Fun little story...
sidenote: do you have Sweet Peas number for her pixie phone? I've just noticed that my trash can is rather full...

[Adam, the Grub Street L..]

Ahahaha, children's story, my arse.

If it is actually one, I apologise, but what I read was a hilarious sublimation of flatmate gripes into the medium of children's story.

At first I thought it may be a fairy-tale, but there is too much sly stuff going on there. The lines about what 'everyone knows' about fairies and the lovely cod-children's explanation about mountain flowers living on sunlight and fairy dust.

And that is without our central problem of the rubbish. No way is this a children's story with a central issue of the bins being taken out.

That said it is a hilarious pretend children's story to print out, illustrate and slip under the house-mate's door. He never takes out the bins and leaves green tea bags all over the house and that is irritating, no matter how pleasant the brunches.

[Becky]

I think the title is fine; most children's stories have rather unimaginative titles. I liked the plot, though in some places you had long, rather awkward sentences. On the whole, well done.

[T. Logan]

Could be called simply 'Sweet Tea'. Not the best, but it's what kind of ties them together. Rubbish wouldn't be a good title. :P

I like this though, even though it is a childrens story.

[Marie]

This is a very nice story, sprinkled with golden fairy dust all the way. And I like the title. Sometimes direct is best. Will it charm today's children? I don't know. I am out of touch with today's children.

I think you must explain what is meant by Marigold's cutting us "soldiers" to eat with her eggs.I would take a guess you mean sardines.