Sara s Magic Crayons SRU Chapter 1
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Sara's Magic Crayons SRU Chapter 2 free porn video
Magic Crayons by Maggie O'Malley
This story is dedicated to my Auntie Sara the Art Angel. Her beautiful
creations both art and literary bring joy and love to all they touch.
Yet as wonderful as they are, they are not the greatest gift she
possesses. The greatest gift of all is the beautiful young woman
herself. Auntie Sara you are a kind, generous, and gentle soul with so
much love to give, and so many who want to give love back to you. You
bring a smile to my face every time your pink wings hold me in a
cuddle and I wanted to say thank you by coloring you your very own
kitten tale. I hope you like it. I used my magic crayons.
I would also like to thank Bill Hart for creating the Spells 'r' Us
universe where so much wonderful magic has been born and for allowing
others the opportunity to play there and of course, special thanks to
my cyber family and friends who constantly shower this kitten with
love, hugs and encouragement to color. Without all of you, neither
this story nor I would exist. Hugs and love to you all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Magic Crayons
Chapter Two: Sanctuary and Flight
The angels didn't come but the next morning did. Sara knew what she
had to do if she wanted to save herself more beatings. She went to
school and told her teacher she was sorry for making up tales and that
she knew she was really a boy. Her teacher wasn't overly convinced
and the students hardly forgiving. Sara's story had spread all over
the school and she was taunted with chants of "Sissy Sara" every time
she walked out on the playground. The boys started bullying her and
knocking her down calling her a "Poof", and the girls just giggled and
made faces at her. Sara ended up sitting alone on the playground with
the only true best friends she'd ever known: her imagination and her
magic crayons.
When Sara returned home that day her father was waiting for her. He'd
decided it was time to take a firm hand in his son's education, hoping
to mold the boy into the young man he'd always dreamed of having. He
spent the evening teaching his "son" about sports and how to fight
back against the bullies who sorted her out at school. Sara hated
sports, and hated fighting, and she hated that her father made her do
these things, but nonetheless she couldn't hate him. He was still her
father, and despite all that he'd done to her, she still wanted his
love, so if only for him, she tried to be the best boy she could be.
Yet within her heart, she held a child's hope that one day her parents
might see she really was their daughter and love her all the same.
So each morning Sara went to primary school and suffered through the
teasing, the beatings, the aloneness, and the pain of watching other
little girls do and have all the things she was denied.
Each afternoon she would come home and change into play clothes and
wait for daddy to come home and give her those terrible boy lessons,
which no matter how hard she tried, she was horrible at.
The late evenings and the nights though belonged to Sara. No matter
what the weather, she would always manage to slip away to the barn and
play up in the hayloft. It was a very special place for Sara because
that is where she kept her crayons, colored pencils and paper she'd
nicked from school and smuggled past her mummy. It was also a very
safe place as she always sat by the window and could see her father
coming long before he could get to the barn. She kept all her
supplies well hid; knowing her father would beat her badly if he found
out she had crayons at home and was drawing girly pictures again.
She still colored during recess at school but she was very careful to
let no one see what she was coloring, save for the few times the boys
took her papers from her and beat her up for drawing "Sissy Sara"
pictures. She also never brought home anything from school she ever
colored, as her father would see to it that she received the same
fate.
But up in the safety of loft, she used her crayons and her imagination
to create worlds where Sara could play again and be a real little
girl. With the help of her magic crayons she was a super hero, a
fairy tale princess, and even a beautiful pink-winged angel. It was
these stolen moments each day that helped the little girl hold onto
life when everything and everyone else around refused to believe she
even existed.
Sara's life continued pretty much the same all the way through primary
school. She never lost the tag of "Sissy Sara", and as a result was
never accepted by the boys or the girls there. At home her mother
watched in pained silence as Sara's father continued trying to make a
boy out of her, and with every failed effort by Sara, her father got
angrier and Sara withdrew that much more. Thankfully she had her
sanctuary in the loft, as she needed it more and more as time went on.
She colored by moonlight and lantern and she colored in the winters
until her fingers were too cold to grip the crayon.
Sara's little girl spirit seemed frozen in time as it never aged a
day, but her boy's body continued to grow, as did her artistic talent.
By the time she was twelve, colored pens and pencils replaced crayons,
and sketchpads replaced coloring books. The little girl still colored
her fairy tale princesses and unicorns, but she also added sketches of
young girls who were blossoming into womanhood, a womanhood little
Sara was never going to know. She loved to melt into those pictures,
living the lives of the characters she created, but then her father's
voice would call her in and she'd return to the hell that was her real
life.
Occasionally her father would ask her why she spent so much time in
the loft, and Sara would lie saying she was reading or studying or
just playing games. She wasn't sure if her father really believed,
and several times she returned to her sanctuary to find her father had
been up there rummaging around, but obviously he'd never found
anything. If he had, she'd being wearing bruises and welts as proof
of his discovery.
Sara's life outside her coloring held little joy for her and no
chances to be a girl but then one late August afternoon that changed.
The thirteen-year-old was walking along the road by the house. It was
one of her rare trips out but a necessary one as her mother had sent
her to the neighbors to borrow some flour.
Sara was walking down the road, half lost in thought about the school
year to come, wondering if "Sissy Sara" would fair any better in
college than she did primary school, when she spied an old suitcase
lying in the weeds. Wondering what treasures the brown leather bag
might hold she pulled it from the weeds and then undid the straps.
When she opened it, her big blues eyes lit up and she grinned from ear
to ear. The suitcase obviously had belonged to a woman as it was
packed full of pretty dresses, blouses, and skirts.
Sara reached in and gently stroked the soft material and sighed
dreamily. It was the first time she'd really held a dress since the
beating her father had given her for wearing one. She was tempted to
look through the whole lot right where she stood but it was far too
dangerous, so she closed the suitcase and hid it in the weeds. She
would take her mother's flour to her and then try to slip back for it
that evening after her "boy lessons" were done.
The sun was just setting as Sara slipped away to retrieve her buried
in the weeds treasure. She made quick time back to the roadside, as
she couldn't risk her father calling for her and her not answering.
Her heart was pounding and her breath ragged, part from her sprint and
part from the excitement of the forbidden fruit the suitcase held.
Sara checked the road, making sure it was deserted, before pulling the
suitcase back out of the weeds and properly exploring its contents.
There were well over a dozen dress and skirt/blouse outfits. Sara's
hands trembled as she held each one up to her, pushing the soft silky
material across her body and imagining what it would be like to wear
it and have the body to fill it out properly. It was intoxicating and
soon she found herself holding a dress close to her and dancing in the
tall grass.
The clothes were a few years out of style, and a few sizes too big for
the slender shapeless girl, but to Sara they were beautiful magical
gowns and she wanted them all. Sadly, she knew that was impossible.
She still bore the scars both mental and physical from the beating her
father gave her the last time he'd caught her in a dress. With tears
welling in her eyes, she neatly folded the clothes and placed them
back in the suitcase. The last outfit she packed was her favorite: a
long patchwork scrunch skirt, and a beautiful cr?me colored silk
peasants blouse.
She said goodbye to her treasures and slowly shut the suitcase. She
tried to get up to leave, as she knew she needed to hurry back, but
she couldn't move. Her hands trembled as they returned to the
suitcase and reopened it. This was stupid and she knew it. It would
be father-assisted suicide if she was caught, but death of another
kind if she left without it. Sara took a deep breath, pulled the
skirt and blouse to her chest and then scurried back home to hide it
in the loft along with her other treasures.
For the first few evenings, Sara just took out the clothes and held
them close, not daring to put them on for fear her father would catch
her. She'd lay on her stomach, her treasures by her side, and make
sketches by moon or lantern light. It wasn't long though before her
need to wear that outfit overruled her fear and good sense.
Sara's spirit seem to soar the moment she slipped into the silky
blouse and flowing skirt. It was food and freedom to a soul starving
for both. Away from the window overlooking the house she was a
barefoot princess spinning and twirling and dancing on air. Once she
finally settled down to draw, she found even her artistic talent drew
life from her attire. The sketches she made while dressed in those
clothes were the best she had ever created. Sara hadn't felt that
happy or alive since she was a toddler. She felt like was going to
die when her father's voice called her in for the night. It was as if
taking off that outfit and putting away her sketchpads were cutting
off her oxygen and she couldn't breathe again until she returned. It
was so hard for her to "hold her breath" all day but knowing what
awaited her at night gave her the courage to do so.
School started a few weeks after Sara had found her new clothes, and
just as she feared, "Sissy Sara" was outed there as well and college
was as lonely and painful as primary school had been. Her father was
pushing her even harder to be the young man she wasn't spiritually,
and was barely physically. She was still a short, skinny, pale-
skinned boy with big blue eyes and blonde hair far better suited for a
girl. Despite all her father's boy training she couldn't play a
sport, she couldn't heave an axe, and she wouldn't fire a gun.
Sara thought she could almost see defeat in her father's eyes after
refusing to fire his rifle. She had every reason to expect another
good beating, but instead he just turned and walked away, muttering to
himself something about how he'd been cheated.
Sara naturally assumed he meant cheated from having the son he'd
always wanted, which was half right but little did she know the other
half of the story. Sara even contemplated trying to go to her father
again, and tell him whom she truly was. Surely by now, with all her
miserable failures at trying to be a boy, he could see she was really
a girl, and then maybe he might finally be able to accept her as his
daughter. Her mother had believed once before and she was sure she
could convince of the truth once again. In fact, there were times that
Sara thought maybe her mother still did believe. She had never said
that in words, but Sara thought she saw it in her eyes when she'd come
in from the barn. It was almost as if her mother knew what she was
doing up there and was glad she at least had that.
Several times Sara had half worked up the courage to tell her father,
but lost it each time she saw the big man and his perennial scowl.
Unfortunately for Sara she never got the chance to bring it to him, as
he came to her and the results cost Sara her home and very nearly her
life.
It was Indian summer and the breeze blew warm and sweet that evening.
The sun was nearly gone and Sara was half way to heaven as was she
dressed in her skirt and blouse, and sketching a lovely scene.
Perhaps it was the combination of the comfortable clothes, the gentle
breeze and the long hard day but Sara did the unthinkable, she feel
asleep.
An hour or so later, Sara's father yelled for her, but she didn't
answer. Her father wasn't one to yell twice so when Sara failed to
show he went up to the loft to get her.
Sara awoke to angry shouting and a sharp pain in her side. The shouts
were from her furious father, and the pain was from his boot as he
kicked hard in the ribs. Sara tried to move, tried to speak, but she
never got the chance to do either, as a crashing right hand came down
and everything went black.
When Sara awoke she was laying in the backyard outside the house. Her
father was towering over her, screaming and punching her. Just as
before, she couldn't move as the big man had her pinned down. She
tried to talk, to cry out and beg him to stop, but all she could do
was choke from the blood filling her mouth. She knew this was it.
Her father wasn't going to stop this time and then mercifully she lost
consciousness again, sure that the next face she saw over her would be
an angel.
In the early hours of the morning, an angel did wake Sara, an earth
angel of sorts, her mother. She helped Sara find her feet, but they
didn't do her much good, as she stumbled badly and fell again. Sara
hurt everywhere. Breathing brought tears to her eyes. Even the cool
drink of water her mother gave her, burned her cracked lips. As she
finally began to come around, she could see the damage as well as feel
it. Her beautiful outfit was in shreds and stained in her own dried
blood. Her father hadn't killed her, but it was a miracle he hadn't.
Sara's mother helped her over to barn and then told her to sit and
rest for a moment, as she would return shortly. Sara lapsed in and
out of consciousness until her mother returned. When she did, she
handed Sara a bag with some clothes, food and what was left of her
treasured art materials in it. Even though she was still half-dazed
Sara would never forget her mother's words. "I know somehow you really
are my Sara. I have always known, but I was too afraid of your father
to stand up to him and say so and I was too afraid of what the world
would do to you, if you said so. I was wrong and I should never have
let him hurt you, but I swear to you he will never lay a hand on you
again. Honey, I don't know if you can, but I hope someday you can
forgive me."
Sara hugged her mother tightly as tears flowed freely. Finally, her
mother broke the embrace and then handed Sara a small pouch. When Sara
opened it she founded a few pounds and shillings that her mother had
squirreled away. She told Sara this was all she had to give her but
she hoped it would be enough for her to start a new life. She kissed
Sara and gave her these final words. "Run Sara, and don't come back,
because they'll be nothing here for you to come back to."
Sara felt like she had just found her mother again and didn't want to
leave. She begged her mother to come with her, but the woman refused
saying she had unfinished business with her husband. She kissed Sara
one last time and said she needed to get back inside should Sara's
father wake up.
Sara watched her mother walk back up toward the house, and then just
before entering, she turned and blew Sara a kiss. Sara smiled and
waved as she watched her mother disappear. Sighing heavily, she
grabbed her bag and headed for the woods. She wasn't able to run but
she did walk until exhaustion claimed her. As she drifted off to sleep
beneath the moonlight, she wondered if her mother's words were true.
Would there ever be anything to go back home for?
To be continued...
Libbie
- 11.04.2022
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