Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with the 1st chapter of a small three or four parter... I haven't decided the full length, but it is for MusicSymphony888's Color Contest, and my color that I chose was Light Green, wanting to do something of friendship, nature, fantasy, and action, and I think this is a good fix. You all will probably be able to tell who these three characters featured are, given that their names are above, on the summary. :P But, besides that, I made this a somewhat darker fantasy, in terms of struggle, abandonment, and loneliness while trying to remember the beauty aspect that exists in nature. Here is the 1st chapter: Shadow Gardens.
Uneven nails that were lined with dirt packed down the soil as soft emerald eyes peered at them. The sun was warm on the girl's back, head, and arms- a sharp contrast to the coolness of the shadow covering her hips and legs. The flower was just beginning to open, the bubblegum pink rose bud slowly opening. The green iris's flecked with speckles of oak were intense, watching it closely as if she could see it open. Soft pink lips turned upwards in effortless smile, giving off a gentle radiance that made her eyes simply glow as she moved to stand.
Now completely in shadow, her eyes no longer shined, but were dark- too dark to tell they were a soft diamond. The soft pink lips were now darker- looking as if they were lacking a healthy luster. The eyes were cautious as they peered out into the sun, looking over the endless stretch of olive grass, past her small garden, with a small shudder she stepped completely out of the shadows cast by the stone tower.
Immediately, the radiance returned and a giggle cascaded through the air as she skipped to the small stream. Gently, she cupped her hands to catch the precious water. Ignoring the dirt on her knees, she carefully moved to her feet, returning to the rose that was beginning to bloom. Every few steps, water dripped from her hand, and as each drop fell the beginnings of a tiny flower began in the now coaxed soil.
She reached the rose and let her muscles lining her hand loosen, the water falling onto the soil, mixing and dripping down to the roots, nourishing it. Curling onto her side, completely in the sun, she continued to gaze upon the pink flower. Becoming complacent and rested she relaxed letting seeds scatter around her, ready to take care of them, as long as she protected them long enough for them to move outside of their own protective shells.
A shadow fell over her though, startling her- scaring her. Already on her feet, ready to run for the cover of her own familiar coolness and tower, where she dictated what happened in the shadows, at least that was what she believed- and where she felt safe, no matter how lonely, miserable, and cold she became without the flowers, plants, and sun, she remembered the seeds she had let escape, the ones which were so fragile. Squeezing her eyes closed, she turned ready to ask the caster of the shadow to move so that the seeds would be able take root in the sun, so as to be healthy, unlike the twisted dark vines, full of sharp prickly, thorns growing the shadow of her own tower and covering the walls.
Barely in mid-sentence, she was shoved. Whether the intention was merely to push her out into the sun, or perhaps towards the water to help the seeds- or perhaps an unfriendly shove, she fell heavily to the ground, landing with a thump, arm twisted unnaturally under her. She felt the life of the seed, crushed by her own weight, flee. Letting out a silent sob and hiding her wounded arm, she dashed for her own fortress. One by one, she felt the life of her seeds die.
Feeling the familiar creep of the cold cast by her own tower, she stumbled in the door and slammed it shut behind her, casting a carefully glance over the sleeping monster. A single pound on the door came moments later. She stepped away from the unlocked, unbarred, but still closed door- and waited for another knock. Instead the walls reverberated with thunder and painful screams came from outside. Almost tripping, she raced to wrestle open the small window. She pleased for him to knock once more- and to simply be patient till she knew when and how she was going to come away from the door when she knew others would be around.
Her stutterings were soft, and most were lost in the noise he was making. The pain from his screams on top of the thunder echoing loudly in her tower that deafened her ears, forcing her to squeeze her head in pain, was simply too much. Slipping outside of the door, dressed completely in grays, brown, and blacks, she hugged the wall, moving against the thorny vines covering the walls. She winced as her skin was scratched, old scars being crossed by new wounds; old, healing scabs ripped off by rubbing against the stones of the wall and the thorns tore into them as well, making them deeper and ruining that which already was at least partially healed.
Stealthily and quietly, hiding behind the vines hanging down the wall, she did everything she could to keep the thorns from digging into his hands as he pounded on the stone wall, slipping padding not only to guard his hand, but to try and dull the sound, trying to make sure the monster wasn't awoken. The lack of pain only seemed to infuriate him more, and he pounded harder, the stones crying out under his wrath. Their voices echoed in the girls head, tears streamed down her face, but she refused to make a sound, refused to give into the voices while trying to comfort them, still attempting to keep the thorns from his hand.
Finally he left, and she untangled herself from the vines, hugging herself and covered in her own blood. She glared out into the sunlight, eyes scanning the other gardens, some beautiful, some overrun with weeds, and some vaguely similar to her own. She leaned back against the thorns, letting them dig into her skin, reveling in the pain. She glanced around, surveying her own garden.
The pink rose was bent, but still alive, and the rose bush it had come from was fine. The Bleeding Hearts were still strong, circling outside the shadows. The grass blew in the wind, parts of it scrunched and not a rich green. How much damage he had done with simple poundings and the dangerous shadows he cast.
She started to return to the door, desperately needing to reach it and barricade herself. She was too vulnerable, too wounded to do anything if she tried. She tripped on her rush back to the entrance of her fortress, sprawling out into the sun. The sun warmed her skin and stung at her wounds. The sun called to her to sleep, just as the dirt radiated healing heat that burned her wounds as it tried to heal them.
And she screamed.
Furious, she stuffed her hand into her mouth wanting to smother the noise. Whimpers still escaped and all she wanted to do was to escape to her tower, never feel the pain of healing, and never know the shine of hope. For healing meant that her skin would one more be soft. Hope meant that her garden would become larger, and therefore, there would be more to destroy; her precious garden, a priceless gift, which again and again, she had continued to fail to protect.
The naturally wavy sunbeam hair curled on the grass, framing her petite face, crystalline eyes shimmering sadness, and sparkling with tears. Her porcelain lips were compressed tightly. Slim fingers, naturally tanned clutched at the grass, seeking the warmth from the dirt, even as she longed to disown it all. Her name fell upon her ears like drops of honey, and she immediately pulled back into the shadows, shoving herself against the wall.
Unbidden, her eyes flicked towards the lone Red Rose so similar to the pink one. Her wall had once again cast a shadow over it, starving it. Stronger fingers then hers straitened it, making sure the dirt was packed around it firmly. She watched, clutching at her prickly vines as he carefully watered it, with such a gentle face.
He should not be taking care of her garden, that was her job. He had his own. She glared at the rose, she could never kill it, never un-root it and throw it away. She came close, and she was careless with it. As a result it had developed thorns, but retained its beauty; a mutant- a cross between the hideousness and horror of her shadow garden and the beauty from the sun garden. When he helped her care for it though, it spent more time in the sun, more time being cared for, more time with its partner, which resided in the boy's garden, already bloomed and strong…
-and the thorns began to fade.
However, she had not yet kept it that way for any period of time. It was so easy to perverse this rose. He said her name again, standing at the edge of her shadow, hand reached out. Eyes soft and pleading, he called to her again for a third time. She turned and stumbled against her thorns, throwing them out after her, making it near impossible for him to follow even as they dug into her own skin. Throwing herself through the dark doorway, she pulled the viney thorns behind her like curtains, hiding the door. She slammed and barred the door, sinking to her knees. The bare dirt was cool here and called out to be nourished. It wanted to give life, but could do nothing without her help. She longed to awaken the monster and let it take care of everything, but if she did that, it would destroy everything with the liquid fire that fell from its mouth and the poison that seeped from its skin.
The only light shone from the window, and she curled in the dark around it, watching and looking, but not touching. He tapped against the glass, shouting her name again. She stared out at him guiltily, his face scraped and the dark brown hair pushed back, glistened with sweat from the effort of following her. She glanced at the door, right next to the window, if he knocked, could she deny him?
He reached over, watching her closely and knocked. She closed her eyes as the sound echoed softly, calling almost irresistibly to her. He continued to knock, watching her closely. She found herself, unbarring the door. The handle jiggled impatiently and insistently. She stared wide-eyed at it. The knocking resumed and she reached out and unlocked it, afraid he would awaken the guardian that was a monster.
The door flew open, and he stood panting in front of her, outlined by light. His hair, revealed by the light for the brick color it was, shone almost completely illustrious in the sun, a plume of crater from a venting volcano and he called to her again, hand reaching out, waiting. She stared from where she crouched on the edge of where the shadow became sunlight, staring. His voice was caressing her, calling to her, and his bloody hands filled her sight.
She reached up her own hand, and gently let it enter into the sunlight and letting it hover over his hand. And then she saw her own wounds as the sun stung at them once again, and as much as she wanted to take the hand, she was also scared of extra pressure on the wounds. He called to her again, and the poisonous tail twitched ever so close to him. His voice was not hers, it was to close. It would awaken. She told him to leave, and closed the door on him.
Curling up, she ignored her garden and cried softly-
…the monster was lulled back to sleep by her tone.
The garden was being tended once again, carefully being weeded. The circle had become smaller though and the soil was dry. Others came bringing left over water when they could, or when they noticed, but she would never completely leave the safety of the shadow cast by her fortress.
When others came to visit she would lay in her doorway, talking to them but never coming out to meet them. She slept, safely locked away, crying herself to sleep. Her shadow garden thrived, and instead of simply thorny vines, thorny ivy grew attaching itself to the door and window.
Each time she shut her door, or opened her window the thorns dug into her hands and pressed against her body when she leaned against them, conversing with others. The change into black clothes concealed the blood and scabs so no one could see the wounds, merely noticed the move to the onyx clothes. However this was not much noticed as she had always enjoyed the darker clothes. The dark shadow came again though, and once more she climbed through her thorns to try and protect his hands.
The thorns were longer now, and her skin softer from being locked away in still air. They tore deeper and longer. He left, as always, after dealing the damage. She collapsed in her doorway, never making it all the way in, never concealing herself from anything else, the sun beating down brutally on her back. She needed to close the door, the air inside the tower could not be warmed up by the sun. The change in temperature would wake It.
Everything throbbed. Her cuts stung. The vermillion liquid was hardening, scabbing and constricting against her skin uncomfortably. And she longed to sleep, untroubled by nightmares, untroubled by overly tired eyes that were swollen, and the sun was so very warm. Her throat was scratchy and sore from swallowed cries, and kept her from sleeping.
The boy was back and calling for her. She needed to close the door and she needed to move. His voice was soothing though, and comforting. She did not want to move, even though it was getting closer.
His shadow blocked some of the sun shining from behind him, instead of something scary and cold however, the shadow was simply a cool breeze, refreshing instead of terrifying. His voice was no longer curious and wondering, but frantic.
The monster stirred dangerously thanks to the warm temperature and a voice that was not hers. Wincing she pulled herself away and let hoarse words fall out of her throat, telling him to go away. She moved to close the door, but unlike last time, he refused to stand by passively. He pressed his shoulder against the door, keeping it open, ignoring the thorns.
He refused to let her close it. She warned him about the monster and tried to shove him out. The thorns only dug deeper and the monster stirred as he called to her, protesting and she screamed in reply. He reached around and grabbed her wrist, pulling her away from the door as he shoved it open, ripping it off the hinges.
Unfortunately the loud crash of the wooden door being torn from its frame awoke the monster. She could only gasp in fear, frozen against the door frame as the boy watched it warily. Growling, it whipped its tail, pinning the girl against the wall, and shoving the boy out the door, its poisonous skin leaving burns where it touched the two. The girl screamed, completely useless and attempted to go and help. Instead she was blocked by the same poisonous tail, which actively kept her in as it also actively kept out the boy.
Sunbeams shone down, casting the boy in color. His deep cerulean eyes were vibrant, as was the bright crimson color of the blood that he wiped away from the corner of his mouth. His fiery lava hair shone majestically, the shade of sunburst orange and feisty fire coming out even more. She on the other was in shadow, dark and sinister. Her blonde hair was an indecipherable color, eyes dark, the light casting only the slightest reflection. The shadows made her dirty, bloodied skin seem as if it was covered in muck and swarming with something alien.
She told him he needed to go, clutching her now burned hand against her burned stomach. She cowered from the monster, watching as he fought against it, being burned and cut by the claws. She longed to help, but her shadow garden was now inside the walls, growing up form the ground, creating restraints to keep her in place. And she only watched as he was thrown out, all because of her and her inability to control what she created. Slumping to the floor, her restraints allowed her to curl into a ball, before they covered her.
The day passed; the sun set; the moon rose, casting a different beauty on all that the sun hit during the day. Day came and the monster was calm, but awake and the boy blinked blearily as the sun hit his eyes. Coughing, he rolled over onto his back, wincing as the sun hit his burn. Heavy weight settled against his shoulders and a long, wet tongue dragged itself across his face. Placing out the large hand, he caught the large yellow lab on the chest and shoved him back. Laughing sadly, he sent the dog back to guard his own garden after properly assuring it he was fine.
Stumbling to the door, he had just enough time to spot the form of the girl covered in bloody thorns before he was forced away from the door by the annoying yet dangerous tail. Groaning, he returned to his own garden to collect the tool he needed. Pushing his ways through the thorny vines, he finally reached the stones. With an effort, he drove the crow bar in between the cracks and began the long process of tearing down the wall so he at least had a chance of reaching her without being smashed against the wall by the seriously annoying tail.
The thorns dug into her skin, pricking every time she tried shifting, digging deeper every time she tried to relax and move. She could feel the monster shifting and growling as the scraping noises and grunts grew louder. Sun shone into the dark area from the hole that was being created. The viney creepers moved away from he sun spots; always dragging the girl with, across the floor, creating new holes in her skin as they moved her.
She wanted him to stop, wanted the pain to go away, afraid of loosing her place of solitude and protection. The pain was almost comforting, knowing that the wall was not down yet. Her fortress that had been unreachable and had never fallen with out her permission, was now being torn asunder by one simple boy and her inability to protect it came from the rose he had helped her plant. Their pair of roses formed a bond, invisibly even in this plane where so many other things were visible; a bond that kept her from keeping him out, unless she destroyed the rose.
The Rose. Even now, she doubted she could destroy it. The seed had been given to her long ago. It was encased in a protective shell that could be deceiving. The protective shells started a growth, but while the flowers budded, they never bloomed. She had found many similar shells, but always could tell if she examined them long and close enough if there was a shell in them or not. But she had always had that shell, always held it close, never examining it closely, but scrutinizing it from a distance, always trying to get rid of it, but always finding it when she least expected it, or having someone return it to her.
She wanted it to be empty, but found herself clinging to the shell, no longer trying to loose it, but never letting it see the sunlight and never letting get close to the dirt, because it was empty. If it was empty, then she would not be wasting and squandering the seed, she needed it to be empty. Somehow, the seed ended up in the dirt. And it grew, but never bloomed. Never opened, some days it almost seemed as if it would die, always in a tightly closed and tiny bud.
Then one day, he found her and dragged her out of her shadow. She let him, knowing that if she needed she could escape back to her shadow and inside of her wall. He showed her his own Rose, a match to her own, only it was blooming. She wanted to cry in fear. She was wanted to shout with joy. She was terrified at the rush of feelings and glanced towards her own Rose. It was finally beginning to open. She knew that she had to destroy it now, rip it out and make sure none of the roots she missed would receive nourishment, or let it bloom. He followed her gaze, and smiled broadly when he saw it- and she knew the battle was lost. She could not destroy what brought him such joy. Still, a vague fear was deep within her, afraid that it was not begging to bloom, but wilt, afraid that the opening bud was nothing more than an illusion.
Heat spread over her and she heard the roar of her monster. The thorns dragged her some, before withering and dying, some of the withered material sticking in her wounds, after finding no sun. The monster was hurt and furious by the sun. The boy was barely able to slip past him to pick the girl up and take her out of the dead shadow-garden. The monster continued to rage, but the boy was faster in the sun, even with the extra weight in his arms.
She bucked and kicked, terrified from the lack of sharp, horrible pains; desperately wanting to escape the pain of the healing light from the sun. He slowed, checking to see if he was followed. When he found that he was not, he placed her on the ground, where she could not bring herself to rise to her feet and run. If she was honest, it was because she knew she could no longer go anywhere that she could lock him out of, despite her best efforts. She might deter him, delay him, but never keep him out unless she destroyed the rose.
She pulled desperately on her hair, trying anything to distract herself. The pain was distracting and comforting. His voice however was luring, desperate, and pleading. It was sorrowful, and there should never be sorrow in that voice. She searched for his face automatically, wanting to comfort him. Instead, she found his outstretched hand. He had rescued her, fought for her, and freed her. Looking up, she met his eyes.
He could push her to the edge, but he could not force her to take his hand. If she chose to take it, he could pull her along some more. Now it was her move. Closing her eyes, she chose.
"Rose." he whispered, as he watched her debate.
She shook her head in dissent, the choice was too easy now. "No... its Peach."
I hope that this was alright, I know action is not my forte, and it was hard writing something with such little dialogue. But, here we have Miss Peachy, our damsel in distress who runs a garden overtaken by some plague, or beast, as she describes it with evil thorns. Our red head isn't her boyfriend, and she wouldn't even call him a friend as of yet, but the fantasy element and friendship will be retained. I don't know when I'll get an update out to you all, but I hope it is soon. I'll see you around for Chapter 2: Underground Gardens. I bet you see a trend, eh? Please review! Let me know what you thought so far, and thanks a million!
~ Paradigm