She found the garden in fifth year. She is the only one who knows about it. It is small and gray and cherished and she goes on Saturdays to weed or sit or think. She feels a perfect Mary Lennox except without a robin and a key and a manor. In the winter it is a silent tomb but she likes it that way, cold and empty and sad like the thoughts swirling in her head. And it is a secret, a little warmth to carry to her locked heart and relish like the other girls.

She hates it when the garden blooms. In May she runs to it and throws open the doors and rips up all the bright flowers but the black warm lively earth is still there, and she screams. When the garden is alive and beautiful it mocks her because it is something she can never have. And in the dead of night she crawls back and kisses the broken stems and weeps.

In the winter, she is a carrion crow drawn to a dead thing.

Nobody knows all the school's secrets.

In the winter, things are buried beneath the snow.

Anonymous: Now that really wasn't a helpful review. You might try commenting on the actualy writing. But thanks for the review anyway!

Puck the Faerie: Thanks! I hoped the 'simplicity' was a good thing...I wasn't sure whether it was just weird or not. At least one person likes it short! dances happily

Princess SimbiAni: Thanks for the review! I always appreciate them.