Paper Skin - a fairy tale

Once.

Once there was a girl with very thin skin.

She lived in a world where everyone had thick scaly skin; skin so hardened that it glittered and sparkled in the light. All around her were people covered in calluses and impervious glossy hides.

The girl's skin did not sparkle or glitter. He skin was paper thin and ripped as easily as a new leaf in springtime. Her skin was like a butterfly’s wing, the slightest touch would mar and create vivid purple bruises.

Her skin so thin it breathed. This made her seem weak to the people with lizard skin, they did not know what it was like to have skin like hers and did nothing to help her protect it.

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The girl learned how to sew covers for her skin. She followed the spiders in the garden, collecting their webs to make robes.

The spiders saw how gentle the girl was and they came to her window in the night, weaving elaborate mandalas and intricate spirals for her to find.  The silky strands caught the morning dew and shone with strength and brightness.

In the morning the girl collected their spirals and mandalas and wove them into a cloak to throw over her shoulders and wrap up her arms. She hid within its beauty. The cloak made of spiders thread was soft and strong. For a while, it was safe inside the cloak.

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When the wind blew it caught loose strands and pulled them soaring into the sky where the tangled and tore. Insects buzzing by became stuck in the sticky lines causing the cloak to tear even more.

Paper wasps, who chewed mulch to make their nests, saw the girls cloak being tangled and damaged. They flew into the garden where the girl was and began to make a nest.

The girl watched the wasps, their bodies glistening in the summer sun, flashing gold and black against the green leaves as they darted about.

Their wings were paper thin like their nest. As thin as her skin, yet powerful as they swooped by in the heat of the day.

The girl saw that many families lived within the paper nest. It looked so delicate hanging from the branch of a Maple tree, but she could see that it was strong.

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All at once the wasps lifted up from their home and flew away towards the sun. The girl watched their flight, their gold bodies turning to black, silhouetted by the bright day.

Seeing that they would not return the girl took the paper wasps nest down from the Maple tree and fashioned a new cloak from their work.

She sheltered within the cloak for a time, but soon the paper wore thin and rain made it melt.

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Slick, fat carpenter ants saw the girl and how her cloak could not withstand the rain. They walked along the garden edge watching the girl with such soft skin, so different from their own sleek black armour.

The girl, weary, slid herself under a fern and fell asleep.

The ants, sturdy and rugged, found sand and pebbles in the garden beds. They hoisted them onto their leathery shoulders and carried them to the girl.

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With gentleness and grace, they placed the pebbles and sand all around the sleeping girl. They made their piles higher and higher, placing each grain of sand just so. Soon a  perfect shell grew up around the girl, completely encasing her, but never touching her precious skin.

When the girl woke she discovered she was cloaked in sand and pebbles. Quartz shards flashed in the evening light. The pebbles were like scales, rough and bumpy; strong and impenetrable.

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She had skin like everyone else. She as protected like everyone else. No harm could come to her now, her skin would not longer rip, tear or bruise.

She sparkled and glittered. Her skin twinkled and gleamed.

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She could not feel the breeze.

She could not dance with the butterflies in the garden.

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She could not move.

She could not feel the light touch of a ladybug land on her arm. She could not feel cool drops of rain or the touch of the sun.

She was safe. She was protected. She was like everyone else.

And she couldn’t feel a thing.

all photos, by Anne Ellis 2012 - 2016
Story by Anne Ellis, July 2016