The garden sits in the empty lot behind my house. It used to be taken care of by the town and was very beautiful to the eye, but now it is a jungle of weeds. The garden used to be like a butterfly. The brightly colored flowers dotted out the delicate and precise detail of the butterflies wings. The large oak tree proudly stood in the center of the garden. It’s crisp, brown trunk became the butterflies stomach and head. The garden delicately turns the hearts of all who see it happy and kind, and flutters to the next broken heart that needs mending. A beautiful fence surrounded the whole garden, with an arbor opening the entrance. A path of wood-chips lined with bricks precisely separates each section of the garden. The garden was a beautiful wonderland, until the town forgot about it.
Now the garden is a monster. The arbor grew sharp wooden teeth that growl when you attempt to enter. If you do somehow make it in, the weedy fur of the monster garden sprawls out in all directions, ignoring the brick boundaries, reaching at you. The uncut fur grows out and around the fence, reaching for people passing by. The oak tree in the center swats when you walk by and makes a “Grrrr” noise if it misses you. The flowers are all dead, and if some made it alive, they are overgrown and mean. If you go up to smell the pretty but overgrown flower, you get a stench that smells like dirty socks and dead fish. The monster garden swallows you whole, never letting you out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone come out since the monster has formed. One day I found an opening in the fence. I walked into the monster, but not through the arbor mouth, which means it can’t possibly swallow me. The next day I came back with pliers, dirt, a shovel, and a bag. I steadily worked on the monster’s fur, cutting it to a nice length. I took out all of it’s weedy knots and trained the tree to once be proud and nice again. I brought in flowers and new brick and fixed the boundaries. Slowly, I made the garden back to what it once was. This is my garden now, and I am the garden’s. We work together, me and my tamed monster.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Click to see the Writing MasterpostSometimes writing is deemed too mature for younger students.
Click here to see that page. Archives
May 2014
Categories
All
|