The story you are about to read is a folk tale. It is a story told by an elderly person to children especially on a night when the moon is high and bright in the sky. The children would gather and sit at the feet of the older man or woman, listening to the story. Sometimes they light a fire and sit around it. The story could also be told by parents in the safety of their homes. For this tale, the original narrator is unknown. Most folktales feature songs sung by the narrator and children in the middle of the story. This one, however, has none. It is familiar to the Igbo tribe of eastern Nigeria. I combined the folktale with my own story. I told it according to my imagination, but the original story is still very much intact. It is a work of fiction. Any similarities in names and characters are pure coincidence. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essay The little girl murmured in her sleep, then opened her eyes, awakened by the shouts and songs of the other children coming from the next compound. She was lying on a raffia mat in front of a small hut. There were two cabins in the complex. The larger one stood in the center, partially flanking the other. He turned onto his stomach and put his right arm under his chin. At the far right of the smaller hut, the fire burned slowly under a small pot, held in place by three large stones. A woman stirred the contents of the pot, then placed a wooden spoon over it to prevent the boiling water from spilling. The little girl caught the strong scent and wrinkled her nose. He stared longingly at the full moon, listening to the full moon songs that were now louder and more intense. Slowly he stood up and sat down. His head felt a little fuzzy. Mom, he said softly. The woman turned. She dropped the small wooden bowl she was holding and approached the little girl, tying the wide band across her breast. You're awake, the woman said, smiling. Can I go? the boy asked, pointing in the direction of the noise. Not tonight, he touched the child's forehead. Your fever has gone down but you are not strong enough. I'll get you medicine. The medicine was the contents of the jar. The child watched as the woman poured some into a cup and left it to cool. He closed his eyes and began to sing along with the children. Drink, said the woman. The little girl opened her eyes and stared at the brown liquid in front of her, prepared with herbs whose names she could hardly remember. He brought the cup to his lips, closed his eyes again, and drank it all. The moon was now higher and fuller. The boy looked at him and made the woman giggle as she rinsed the cup. She dropped him face down onto a small clay pot, then picked up the stool she was sitting on by the fire, dropped it onto the mat, and sat on it. Would you like a story? he asked softly. Yes, mom. Tell me about the turtle. No, no turtle stories tonight. I have another story to tell you. The little girl nodded and rested her head on the woman's lap, anticipating the opening line. Tell me to make me happy A long time ago, the woman began, there lived a very beautiful girl. His name was Olaedo. He was the most beautiful person in his village. Every eligible young man wanted her as his bride. Men from all over the world came to marry her, but she rejected them all. She began to feel proud of her beauty. No one was on his level anymore. Her father tried everything in his power to make her choose one of the suitors, but failed. The history of her beauty was so great that an evil demon who lived in a distant land, far from people, ne.