The Garden
I sit down on the rock, looking down at my feet. I put them slowly in the freezing water, shivering as soon as it laps at my skin.
As soon as they are submerged I look around my beautiful garden. I see every part and I know all. Nothing escapes my gaze.
The gardener once made me unhappy with the upkeep of my favorite part: the green roses. I made certain that he never did that again.
...
The gardener had always tried to do his job well, never leaving anything out of place, pruning properly, watering evenly. For he loves his job, making things look lovely. And he likes the look that lit up his madame’s face when she saw it all.
But he also likes living. Keeping his head has been a priority in this job, one that you’re not told about when you acquire it.
She is not awful, she simply wants everything to be perfect, wonderfully so.
“And isn’t that also what he wants?” He asks himself. “Yes it is. So there is no problem at all.” He carefully snips a small branch off a rosebush and whistles.
...
Never had the prince seen such a spectacular grounds as he now walked across. The lawns are exact, the flowers vibrant, everything perfect.
“I must meet the gardeners.” He remarks. “Any men who keep things as emaculate as this are marvelous workers. I wish to congratulate them.”
The small woman walking beside the prince laughs. “Oh no sire, ‘tis on‘y one man ooh does all thee wark. ‘Es a smart fellow, good at ’is job.”
The prince stops in his tracks and throws his head around, amazed.
“One man does all this!” He exclaims, “how does he keep up with it all?!”
The woman’s smile stranes a bit. She had stopped walking when he had, and she now sits on the short wall on the side of the path. She is still smiling and yet it does not appear so happy now.
”’Es good at wat ’e does.” She says, clenching one hand in the fabric of her dress.
The Prince is now uncretain how to proceed. He has always tried to be kind to servants, but decorum must be upkept. You cannot pat them on the shoulder for instance.
”Well, I would like to meet him myself but it may not be possible. Could you pass along my wonder at his work, please?” The prince says, still unsure of how to act.
“Of corse sire, no pr’blm.” She stands and begins moving once more. “Right thiz way.”
...
”Well, look at that.” I thought to myself, pulling the curtain aside to look out the window.
“Ma’am?“ The young girls light steps could pull me out of my thoughts at all times of the day. It is as though she is trying too hard to be quiet.
”I see them.” I say without turning. “Tell the butler I will be down shortly.”
”Yes Ma’am.” I hear her feet scrape and then her retrearing steps. I will have to talk to her superior about that lack of noise, nothing drastic will have to be done. At this point in time at least.
Now, what to wear? The boy is a prince so he likely seen all of the most extravagant things. The point of this meeting is not to impress him regardless of that. It is for the “introduction of our two countries monarchies.” To quote myself from my letter.
The text in question had been addressed to the king and I would have preferred if he was the one here today. However, in his returning message he spoke of his previous arrangements, and displeasure at being unable to attend.
I decide upon wearing something that will tell him I am serious about this discussion. At the same time it will make him aware that I will not be taken advantage of. My kingdom is my own, I alone will provide for it.
...
”Her Majesty will be down as soon as she is able. She has had a busy morning.“ The has a way of talking above someones head, not looking at them. It’s making the prince uncomfortable and he resists the urge to check behind him for someone else.
“Thank you sir. Is there somewhere I can wait for her?” the prince asks, hoping to take advantage of seeing more of the building this mysterious queen lives in.
“Right this way, sire.” The butler says, waving his hand and turning slightly sideways.
The prince follows just behind the butler, wishing that he could take notes. He had already learned so much about this woman. He may not be able to remember it all for his father.
...
”He’s a good lookin’ boy. Nothin‘ like ’is fatha.” The maid says, hanging the laundry. “I hope he don’t judge the mistress too much. Outsidars are not often kind to her.”
The other maids and manservants nod. There had been many a guest who received subpar service because of their comments about their dear madame.
The servants had found that the wealthy often forgot that while the subject of discussion wasn’t there, listening ears still lingered. Serventa truly could disappear for them.
...
The prince had been waiting for about ten minutes when the doors of the library swung open.
“Hello dear prince!” The lady exclaimed. He had thirty seconds to observe her before he was swept up in her arms. Two kisses on his cheeks left his head feeling jerked around.
“She’s wearing pants.” He thought to himself.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I got distracted with various things.” She leads him to a table and he cautiously sits.
“No problem, your majesty. I enjoyed looking at the books.” He looks around in wonder at the huge shelves stacked full of paper.
“Yes, it’s quite large.” They sit in a comfortable silence for a few seconds before she speaks again.
“I hope you don’t mind my choice of clothing. I find it to be so much easier to do my daily tasks in than anything else. And I have no husband to tell me otherwise.” She chuckles at her small joke, but it seems that her words are a threat as well.
“No, I am a guest in your house. However you dress is none of my concern.” The prince feels the diplomatic dance beginning and hopes he does well at it.
“Thank you.” the queen raises her hand and a manservant quickly walks over. She whispers in his ear and then he hurries off to take care of her wishes.
“Would you like to see my most prized possessio?” She suddenly asks, sitting forward in her chair slightly.
The prince is taken slightly by surprise, the look on her face is more intense than one would normally expect. But then he recalls his diplomacy. A smile grows on his face.
“It would be my greatest pleasure.” He bows his head a degree.
“Wonderful.” She stands and begind walking to the doors. “Follow me this way then.”
...
How to explain the prince the importance of what he was about to witness. This was the basis of everything I do. My very existence depends on it.
We walk down the front steps, the golden light shimmering.
Stepping onto the gravel, I get more excited with every step closer. I love being here and showing it to someone is more joyful than I would have thought.
“Here it is.” I say, approaching the glass doors. I throw them open and breathe in the scented air, perfectly perfumed.
I step back so that the prince can see it. There is so much to take in and I want it presented in its full glory. He steps through the doors, staring at everything in wonder.
“This,” I say, following him through, “is The Garden.”
To be continued...
Lately love lies lacking
Maybe I'm not meant to make a difference.
Possibly I have to pass this prospect of a perfect opportunity to someone who will probly need it more than me.
Coming down into a courtyard covered with the citizens, concluding they control complete live comprehensively.
Name people not affected by the never ending nailing of a coffin's narrow opening, nauseously noticing nothing really changing.
Someone has to stop it all, sanity is somewhere else, seeking souls suited more sufficiently to somehow fit its plan, you see;
Although we allow other people to assimilate, we will not ourselves associate with anything until it's already too late.
How can humans half each other lives, harvesting everything that happened in their history, hate hardly harrowing or hampering the travesty.
Instead ignorance increases the inferno and irritates the issue, isolating those deemed "interesting"
Maybe I'm not meant to make a difference.
Well, I'm not the only one in this world with words that will work to help the ones who have it worst.
And even though it may not seem like we will ever make it through, know that this is true:
It has to start with you.
One Day More
I walk forward. One two three one two three. My feet hit the ground in a rhythmic pattern. I go into the store and then I come out. I hadn’t bought anything. I just wanted to go in.
I get into my car and start driving. I stop at the light and then move when it turns green again.
I go into my house and then head up to my room. I do my homework and then I call my best friend. We talk for a while. Then we both hang up and I read.
I turn off my light and rush to the bed. I get under the covers and put my head in the pillow. I close my eyes.
I hear a noise outside, thunder. Rain starts as well. I fall asleep.
Blind but I see
Black is the color of collapsing. Falling. Going in and in to the oblivion of your soul. The great abyss of the inside of your mind. Of nothingnes. The sound of a pen against a page.
Blue is cold. It’s wind and snow. It’s the feeling of utter calmness. It’s the flavor of rain before the clouds release. It’s clean, water against your hand.
Green is the taste if ocean water. Its the sound of birds wings. It’s the feeling of slowly growing joy. Of a high note played on a violin. A cry from a baby.
White is cotton cloth on your skin. The sound of paper rustling. Of thunder rumbling. The feeling of peace. Of complete joy.
Red is a blush crawling up your face. It’s the stomp of feet to an internal metronome. The sound of an arrow leaving a bow. The feeling of a kiss softly on your cheek.
Purple is a dragon roar. It’s the sound of lightning blasting. Of a note played on a trumpet. The feeling of lukewarm water on your toes.
Orange is warm. It’s the sun barely caressing your skin with thermal trendils. A flower petal gently falling down your arm. It’s the sound of the snapping of fingers.
Brown is the sound of a cello solo. Of crunching leaves. A fire crackling. The feeling of someone’s hand in yours. Of chocolate sitting on your tongue.
Gray is the sound of light rain. A rock falling to the ground. It’s the feeling of slipping and falling. Of someone else’s hair on your face.
Yellow is laughter. It’s a dog barking. Keyboard keys clicking. It’s patches of cold and hot sitting under a tree. The feeling of a leg bouncing. Of stress.
Color isn’t just seen. It’s felt and heard. Color is everything and nothing. Color is your soul.
Dark Roses
An anomaly, I have to say,
the blooms that now upon me lay.
I’ve seen red and blue and pink and white,
but black? Never.
A bow of golden satin string
goes about them like a ring.
A piece of happiness and joy
so contrasting.
Although I know you meant it well,
it does me better not to dwell
on all the things that made you choose
dark roses.
Perhaps if I was still alive,
I could try to make them thrive
as it is, they will slowly whither
and die.
There will not be a funeral for them.
Instead someone will condemn
a bundle of dried blossoms
to compost.
My heart will go out in sorrow,
and I will hope that by the morrow
they will be taken back and returned
to my hands.
I’m Sorry
The papers go everywhere.
I duck down to the floor and scramble them together again.
“Sorry, I wasn’t watching.”
I say the words but don’t really mean them.
Hands appear and help me.
I wasn’t expecting someone to give me aid.
Especially not since I had been such an idiot and run into them.
Maybe I did mean that I was sorry.
The papers are all in a pile but the hands still haven’t come out of their crouch.
I glance up.
The face I see is that of a boy’s.
A boy that I recognize but don’t know much about.
“It’s fine, it was my fault.”
He smiles and I believe him.
“What do you say I sit next to you at lunch to make up for it?”
He puts out his hand to help me up.
I take it.
“How does that make anything up to me? Unless you pay for lunch.”
“Who says that I was making anything up to you? I might have meant it for me.”
Why does that not make sense.
Why do I not care.
I guess I just don’t want to be alone at lunch.
I want to have someone else to talk to again.
“Hm.”
I pretend to consider.
“All right. You can sit with me...”
I catch my breath.
“But promise not to leave half way through.”
“Ok. I promise.”
He holds up his pinkie to seal the deal.
We walk in the direction of the lunchroom.
My books and papers are under my chin probably carving a line into it.
And cue the awkward silence.
I’m surprised when it doesn’t last very long.
“I saw drawings on the papers. Are you an artist?”
Do you actually care.
Are you just asking to break the silence.
“Yeah. Drawing can take emotion and represent it but also twist it. Make it new.”
I glance at him through the corner of my eye.
“That’s actually really cool. Artists don’t usually talk about that sort of stuff.”
Is he just humoring me.
I duck my head.
“Most people don’t see it that way. They think the way I see art is weird.”
And he laughs at me.
My head comes up very quickly.
Here comes the teasing.
“That’s ridiculous! I’m an artist, too you know.”
His smile looks genuine…
“Not the same kind, I just play the piano and violin. And a couple others. I haven’t ever really thought of it that way before, but I guess that applies to music as well.”
We go through the lunchroom doors.
So he doesn’t despise me?
Interesting.
“What other instruments?”
“Not important. I’m not really good enough at them to say that I actually play.”
He holds the second pair of doors open for me.
Another girl walks up to us.
“Leo.”
Ah.
The girlfriend has arrived.
And the worst part is that we have a history.
“Yes Caroline.”
He looks away from me and I take my cue to leave.
As I slip past he grabs my arm.
“I thought we both promised not to leave half way through.”
Uuummmmmmm.
What?
I stand in complete silence as he turns back to Miss Caroline.
“I knocked into…”
Oh yeah.
My name.
But I never get the chance to tell him what it is.
“Sarah in the hallway and made her fall over and drop everything.”
He knows my name.
How?
“I offered to buy her lunch to make up for it. You can sit with us if you want to.”
She looks so disgruntled and unhappy and lost that I almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
“All right. You wouldn’t mind me joining you, would you Sarah?”
Can I say something bold and tell her that I would mind it very much?
No.
“Sure Caroline. You can sit with us.”
I continue to get my lunch.
“Word on the street is that you’re buying me lunch.”
I hear his laughter for the second time that day. I smile with him.
“Yeah, I would never go back on a pinkie promise.” The smile I can’t see is evident in his voice.
Caroline has never been silent for so long, so she must introduce her opinion into the conversation.
“I love your outfit, Sarah.”
That smirk cuts through the compliment.
I hear her clang her lunch tray on the others around it.
“Thank you.”
What am I supposed to say to such a sarcastic remark?
Caroline continues “It is very… unique.”
I can’t help it, the words just slip out. Sort of.
“Thanks for noticing Caroline.” I have filled my tray so I turn to look at her. “I am never able to make it to the huge Abercrombie sales like the rest of you, but I still try to look nice.”
The books and papers with the food on top suddenly become heavy. I shouldn’t have said that.
Caroline scoffs and walks away. I expect Leo to follow her, but he stays by my side. As he said he would.
“I’m sorry.” We both say it at the same time. I mean it, too. I don’t have to think about this one, either.
Leo smiles again. “What do you have to be sorry for? She is convinced we are dating and so she can be kind of mean sometimes.”
He turns towards the doors.
“We are good friends, but she doesn’t want me to have other friends.”
They aren’t dating! Have they ever been dating? What else had she been lying about all the time that we were best friends?
He bumps into my shoulder. “Want to go eat?”
As we walk past the table that Caroline is at I make sure to walk past her, get her attention and softly whisper, “Sorry.”
She turns away and chatters away about something.
I walk forward, the books no longer so cumbersome in my arms. As we reach another table Leo tells a joke and I laugh.