Jack and the Bean-Stalk
Once. Travelling the road, together.
The sun was beginning to rise, and a figure appeared ahead of them. Withered and feeble, with a wiry grey beard, bent over his crooked stick. He gave beans.
Beans for a cow.
A cow?
A cow.
For beans?
Magic beans.
Okay.
Okay. The boy turned, the boy returned home.
Furious. You returned with nothing, we will starve, get to bed now.
Now?
Yes.
Okay.
Okay.
No supper, the boy grew hungry.
It grew, Intertwining branches reached to the sky, the boy began to climb, higher, and higher.
Fee. fi. fo. fum
I smell blood.
live, or dead,
his bones will be ground to make my bread.
Back and forth, and again. He travelled. A sack of gold, a hen laying golden eggs, a magic harp, was enough to compensate for his mistake.
Gold?
Gold. You happy?
Very happy.
Good.
The boy went up for the final time.
Fee. fi. fo. fum
I smell blood.
live, or dead,
his bones will be ground to make my bread.
The boy, spun round and faced the glaring eyes of the ogre staring back at him. He ran. The ogre followed.
Help, get an axe, quickly, the ogres coming.
An axe?
An axe.
Okay.
Okay.
The blade sawed back and forth, and back again. The trunk cracked, the stalk came down. The ogre fell with it, a deafening cry followed. The ogre died.
This is a phenomenal piece of writing.
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