The Little Mushrooom


Dreams can be found anywhere, held by anyone, granted by those most unlikely and often regretted once realised.

On the outskirts of a miniscule village lay an archaic majestic forest. In the forest was a grandfather elm. At the base, lay a sodden rotten log. Inside the log, amongst the lichen, lived a little mushroom. As far as mushrooms go he was tiny, youthful and zesty. 

 All in all he should have been the happiest mushroom in the world. He lived in the constant soothing shade amongst a rotting richness. His home would have be much envied by many mushrooms. Yet he was not content.

He watched the sun dance, skip and shimmer.  Sunbeams played with the forest floor like effervescent elves- flittering ever so lightly and gracefully. Where ever the light touched, stunning halos graced the elements of the forest. For the mushroom, the sun never came, nor played or danced.

Everyday the mushroom stretched his stalk toward the sun. Every moment he hoped, he wished, he yearned. As the night would fall Little Mushroom slumped toward the  damp earth. Just when all hope seemed lost  he heard a new noise.




An irrepressible giggle erupted in the air above.

 The mushroom did not know what to do.

Should he call to the creature?

Should he hide?

Should he …could he?

The sound came closer and  Little Mushroom’s courage failed him. He hid his face beneath the  the belly of his homely rotten log. As he cowered, he heard the thudding come  ever closer. Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The roof of the old branch arched down brushing the mushroom’s head. The thing was just above his cap.

 The mushroom shivered and shook. A new sound bubbled down from above. A small high pitched squeal pierced the air.  The ceiling lifted as the pressure from above eased and the creature scampered away.

"I missed my chance." Little Mushroom wailed.

"You were saved little fungus"  Grandfather Elm boomed "Be happy, be still. Some are meant for the light and others are meant to dwell in the dark. It is as it is. Dream if you will but also accept. Without acceptance there can never be peace, happiness or joy." The young mushroom turned from Grandfather Elm muttering "Without dreams I can never be more than I am."

"You are what you are.You, my sweet, are perfect." Grandfather Elm assured. It was to no avail for the mushroom refused to listen.

The next day the thudding noise came again. This time the Little Mushroom mustered all of his courage.  He waited for the creature to come close again. Today he would sight this magical creature. On this day he would call to it.


The Little Mushroom stretched.

Thud! He stretched again.

Thud, he saw it – The Creature.

It was a small humanoid with cheerful curls and apple cheeks. This monster was large and careless but it was also the embodiment of  joy. The Little Mushroom called out ‘Creature, help me play with the sun.’

 The large cherub stopped, spying the deep ruby head of  Little Mushroom, it reached down with its massive stubby digits. Little Mushroom was elated. His hopes were high. This day he would dance in light just like the other residents of the forest. He felt the fingers grasp his body. He felt the pull.

 The agony of being reefed from his log was immeasurable. Still he felt joy.  The Creature ran with the disembodied mushroom in his hand. The world jerked with jolting speed. Still the little mushroom believed. Finally the pressure dissipated and the mushroom plunged to the sun drenched earth below. 

He had done it!

He had reached the sun, His wish was granted!

Then it happened.

The light was searing. The little mushroom screamed. He howled  within this daylight  oven as it scorched his fleshy body for endless hours.





His skin shrivelled and shrunk. He howled with a soul drenched despair. The agony was consuming. His pitched panic faded as the essence of  Little Mushroom rose to the forest canopy and on to the heavens above.

 The child who had murdered  Little Mushroom giggled and chortled on his way home to warm toast and sugary tea.

 Grandfather Elm groaned and bowed his mighty shaggy head. His leaves fell with deep remorse, covering the empty rotting log at his base.

 The Little Mushroom was no more.

His dream had lived.

He had died.
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Alexis Sims

All Stories on this blog are of course fiction and characters and events bear no relation to either myself or others living or dead
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    Alexis Sims


    November 2011



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