My Garden

Before me stands a big oak door. I stare in silence, tracing each groove, too afraid to knock. I know already what lies on the other side. A lush garden, with vibrant flowers and a warm sun. I've been there before. I remember the cozy embrace of the garden. The delicate fragrance, the beautiful light, and the sounds of laughter from spirits running free. But one day I awoke and found that I was on the wrong side of the door.

The dark vines tug at my feet. The earth is dry, the air is arid. I can feel the thorns dig into my arms. A flame ignites the brush, and I freeze, terrified, as it blazes. I cannot escape this. I cannot go through the door, I have to keep my garden safe. My tears leave my face sticky, but I accept my fate. I know the flames will die down if I can endure them long enough. As the fire whips across my legs, I dream of leaving this hellish world.

One day, the garden door opened. At first, I was overjoyed. The wind danced, and petals flurried. But I soon became afraid of what the brush could do to it. In a panic, I gathered the flowers. I brought them to a new house, far away. I set them in water, and let them grow roots. I know I have to return to my home, but I find comfort knowing that the garden can grow freely.

With the door now open, I return to the room where the garden once was. The beloved flowers are gone, but I know that I am safe from the fire on this side of the door. Here I will stay, with no fragrance and no sun, no brush and no flames. Every so often, I brave the danger again for the chance to visit the garden. The flowers keep growing, far away from me.

One day, I decide to break free. The vines against my door will not hold me back. The fire will not control me. I find myself running back to the garden. I think of the flowers, the breeze, the sun, the spirits. I think of the time I had cherished in the garden. But when I arrive I realize that the house is locked. And once again, I am on the wrong side of the door.

I wander for a while, among the snow and ice. Among the frigid, roaring wind, I even find myself missing the fire. I feel cold and alone. Months go by, and I am nearly frozen. As I accept my stagnant condition, I feel flickers of a familiar warmth. Cautious but hopeful, I open my eyes and take in the gentle sunlight. And in front of me, I see a hand. Another person, someone just like me. I reach forward and take the hand they offered. I let them lead me to a beautiful new house. I open the door, and find that each room is empty. The hand once again reaches out, this time offering me a single flower. Tears flood my eyes as I gently brush the petals. Together, we will build a garden. One that I can truly call mine.

-------------------------

My Garden- A Fiction Short Story by Lana Gladbach, Age 21

541 Words

Ages 15+

I mostly write in stream-of-conciousness, but I also enjoy writing short stories and children's stories.