Short Story: Thesaurus and the Glistening Stones


I have always loved children’s stories, from Dr. Seuss to Roald Dahl. Children’s imaginations are so creative and accepting that the rules of story telling don’t always need apply. Quite simply context isn’t needed. A child will accept a multi-coloured elephant without the need for context or back story. A child will accept that you could fly a giant peach to New York without questioning the correct seagull to peach ratio.

For three years I worked in schools and my favourite time of the day was always story time.

Watching their eyes drift off into worlds full of magic and adventure is a joy that can only be replicated as you get older. Naturally it became a passion of mine to write my own.

In a rhyming format inspired by Julia Donaldson, this is a story a Nerdy Dinosaur called Thesaurus, or at least it will be once it’s finished. It doesn’t have an end, it doesn’t have any illustrations, and the beginning and the middle need work but other than that it’s ready to go (insert heavy doses of sarcasm). The one thing I’m sure of is that Thesaurus is a killer name for a dinosaur!

Thesaurus and the Glistening Stones

Asleep in a cave beneath Steel Tooth Mountain.
There lived a large dinosaur who couldn’t stop fartin’.
Tall and ferocious with razor sharp teeth
And a terrifying roar which beggars belief.
His fights in the pit brought him many a glory,
But alas this chap is not the focus of our story.

Tiny and small, kept awake by the stench
Created by his brother asleep on the bench.
A young dinosaur whose eyesight was weak.
With glasses that nestled on his big rosy cheeks.
He hated to fight by he loved to read
And he’d list of his facts at a staggering speed

“You know Steel Tooth Mountain is 10 thousand feet tall
If you were to trip at the top that’s a long way to fall!”
And his classmates would grown and they’d tell him “Thesaurus!
Why do you keep telling us things that’ll bore us?”

So Thesaurus would shrink and he’d keep to himself
While they spoke of his brother, his power and wealth,

“You know he took down a raptor who was trying to hide
With a sonic blast sent from his backside!”
“And have you seen his collection of glistening stones?
Not to mention his piles of fossils and bones!”

How Thesaurus wished he was ferocious, and strong
But when he tried to act tough things would only go wrong.
So he’d squint in the dark and he’d read from his book,
‘The Diplodocus who jumped, and how the ground shook.’

But outside of the cave, lit only by moonlight,
Was a spineless creature with an glistening appetite.
A more slippery creature would be hard to find
And only mischief occupied his mind.

“I slip and I slide, silent and quick.
Something shiny I seek, something glistening and slick.”
So through the grass he slithered. Tucked away out of sight.
Toward Steel Tooth Mountain under cover of night.

When the morning arrived, and Thesaurus awoke,
He picked up a stick to give his brother a poke.
An eruption of gas and he reached for his nose.
There’s no tougher a task than waking a bro from a doze!
But something was wrong and the cave seemed to glum.
There was something that’s missing. Something which shone in the Sun.

Then Thesaurus’s brother seemed to jump from his bed.
“They’re gone! They’re missing! They were here!” he said.
“My glistening stones! Who took them, who dared?
When I find who it was, they had better be scared.”

He smashed and he crashed as he looked for his rocks
And he ripped down their fossils and he tore through their socks.
Only Thesaurus stayed quiet as he shrank by the door.
When he noticed something odd, something carved in the floor.
A path like a river which flowed through the ground
From a crack in the wall to the now empty Mound.
But who could have left it? Who wriggles and slides?
And who took the stones in one slippery stride?

Thesaurus started to stutter and the words came out in a blurt,
“B…b…b…b…b…brother look here in the dirt.”
But over his brother’s tantrum, no one could here
So his dazzling discovery seemed to fall on deaf ears.

– – E.M. Wragg

E.M. Wragg hails from Essex, England. You can usually find him waxing poetic on the streets of London or at home watching movies with his dog. He’s currently working on his first children’s book.

This entry was posted in Short Stories and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s