The Little Girl and Her Garden

Probably one of my best pieces of writing. Not that that means much.

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The Little Girl and Her Garden

Once upon a time, there was a perfectly ordinary little girl. She was of ordinary height, had ordinary brown hair and had an ordinary face that was neither pretty not plain. Now, the little girl disliked this ordinariness, and longed to be different; whether a delicate and beautiful princess, or a strong proud warrior who went into battle swinging an axe, she didn't care so long as she could escape her mundane existence. Like many others, this little girl wanted many things; to be special, to never be overlooked, but all her desires stemmed from her first and greatest one: to never be alone. There was just one thing she had that made her different; she had a gift with plants and trees, so that under her tender care, her little garden flourished like Eden. Each flower was a radiant angel, each tree a great giant, and each fruit seemed forbidden, for every one was far sweeter, firmer and juicer than those found in any marketplace in the world. For fear of being left alone, the girl decided to put all her heart and soul into her garden so that people would come visit it, and thus, her. In order to please her, for they loved her dearly, the trees and flowers did their very best to grow tall and strong and beautiful.

Throughout the spring and summer, people from all over the world flocked to her wondrous garden to see her flowers; the colours of her blossoms were richer and brighter than any precious stone, their petals softer than the finest silk, their scent was like an angel's breath. She would pick blooms and weave them into wreaths and bouquets to be given to whoever visited, even when dusk came and she would be left with none to admire, for they promised to visit her every day if she did so. Because of this, the flowers protested, for they had to grow doubly fast in order to replace the ones that had been picked. "Please, please, stop," the flowers would whisper. "I can't, I can't," the girl would reply in sobs as she reached out to take yet another blossom. "For if I did, no one would visit me." They had nothing to say to that, but parted their thorns and swatted the flies and gnats away to make her task easier, even though their plant-hearts were heavy with sadness.

When fall came, the fruit turned ripe and firm and the trees seemed to blaze red and gold like the sun. She gave away the fruit to those who visited her with a happy heart, even when she was left with only the rotting ones to eat, for the people promised to visit her every day if she continued to do so. Because of this, the fruits protested, for they had to grow doubly fast in order to replace the ones that had been picked. "Please, please stop," the fruit would whisper. "I can't, I can't," the girl would reply in sobs as she reached to take yet another fruit. "For if I did, no one would visit me." They had nothing to say to that, so they grew as large and sweet as they could to please her and the humans, even though their plant-hearts were heavy with sadness.

Then winter came to pass, and the leaves, flowers and fruit fell to the soil and rotted away, leaving branches thin and bare. The garden looked like a bride, fresh and virginal, draped with a crystalline veil. It was still as beautiful as it had always been, but it was a different kind of beauty, one that was simple and pure, that didn't require a riot of colours to hide in. Despite this, no one came to her garden any more as there were no more flowers or fruits they could take home, and it would be quite foolish and impossible to bring back a handful of snow. A week went by, and then another, without a single soul coming to visit the poor little girl. She wept, her heart aching with loneliness and despair, and her hot tears melted and watered the frozen plants. Then they wept with her, for her despair was so great. "We will try," they told her. "We will try."

With great effort, rich green leaves began to grow. The rose bushes blossomed with large fat blooms; sunny yellow, cheery pink, snow white and blood red. The fruit trees grew flowers that quickly became fruit, ripe and tempting as ever. As the girl watched, she continued to weep, but her tears were now those of joy as she watched the jewel-hued plants grow before her in the midst of a bleak winter landscape.

Word of this miracle spread quickly and once again, people flocked to see her garden. At its centre, the little girl met them, with smiles on her face and gifts of flowers and fruit in her arms. They stopped short, and fell to their knees to thank the Lord for this miracle.

That was when one pious man protested, and said that it must be witchcraft. "For it is impossible for flowers to bloom and fruit to ripen in the winter," he said. "Let alone for them to be of these monstrous sizes and gaudy colours." The others agreed that there was sense in his words, and declared that the little girl must indeed be a witch. "Stone her!" they cried. Frightened, and unable to comprehend the sudden turn in events, the girl remained where she was and did not attempt to flee. She did not take long to die.

As she drew in her last breath, the ground rumbled in anger. The earth opened under the people's feet like a gaping mouth and the people tumbled into an abyss, without any hope of escape. The trees around the garden began to grow and grow, until they were taller than the sky, far too high to scale. The rose bushes that ringed the garden quickly became wild and tangled, with razor sharp thorns that would tear at the flesh and blind any intruder who dared try to enter the garden. And the little girl's body rests in the centre of her miraculous garden for all time, surrounded by her beloved plants; the ones who had and would always loved her.

End.