The Garden - A Short Story (Comments Encouraged!)

[Calminaion]

The Garden (Second Draft)​

Silas found a certain solace in the garden. It was not so much peculiar as it was certain–consistent, that is. The moon was just now gleaming through the trees, though Silas had been there for some time already. As the moonbeams shot through the limbs of the voiceless sylvan sentinels, Silas’ tears fell with the morning rain. As quickly as the silver light shone through, it relented under the foreboding presence of the oncoming fog and clouds. Such was Silas’ life: as quickly as the good came, so did the seemingly unfortunate.​

If he was truly honest with himself, Silas was glad to see the moon blotted out, as if the earth could share his misery. He almost managed a smirk when the rain chilled his neck and ran down the back of his frock coat, but the rain’s kiss reminded him of a gentler, warmer caress that once was meant for him and him alone. The wind bit at his face, sending snow flakes as an evil, slicing reminder of his current position. It was like that, most of the time: anything and everything reminded Silas of the fact that he was now cold, alone, and suffering from his amputated heart.​

Where once a cheerful heart had rested, there now lay an icy block of coal no mere Scrooge would dare to touch. Colder than the gravestones laying upon the outskirts of the God Field, Silas’ heart was likely to freeze anyone who dare look upon it. His cold, icy green eyes had lost their emerald shine, having been replaced by the ethereal wisps of a dead soul.​

It was after he had been lost in his own despairing prison for the majority of his walk that he happened upon his destination: a gravestone at the end of the cemetery. There, by the elaborate cross that stood a symbol of a faith he once held dear, crouched two small children, accompanied by an angel in a red Victorian dress. The boy was only seven, with red hair, freckles, pale skin, and tears that made his blue eyes shine like stars over the ocean. He buried his grimacing visage into his mother’s hip, seizing at the folds of her dress as if he could somehow keep her from Death’s clutches.​

The young girl was likewise young, with strawberry blonde hair and the same pained grimace. Her green eyes filled with silent tears that cascaded with a burning chill down her baby cheeks, spilling onto the grass at her feet. She stood, silently weeping, staring at the grave. She did clutch her mother’s hand, and every so often whispered a faint and doubting “Why?”​

The angel, of course, was the most radiant creature to have ever graced the earth. Silas watched as she simply stood, doing her best and failing her worst to appear strong before her progeny. The black veil over her brown hair did nigh cover her face, but could not hide the tears and the pain so evident on her facade. It pained Silas to see her, though it felt as though he had never seen her before. Still, he felt a strange familiarity with her, wanting so much just to embrace her beautiful form.​

Silas approached the grave tentatively, stepping lightly across the crystal snow to gaze upon the name on the grave. A chill began to grow like a spider creeping down the bottom of his neck, weaving an evil web as it scuttled down the bone and into his arms and legs. The fog hid the cold sweat on his forehead, but under his collar Silas was a torrent of salty, prespiring fear. He stood over the angel, gazing past her invisible wings, over her velvet-laden shoulder as her scent possessed his mind, increasing the terror growing within him.

It was then that the other man arrived, his cheeks full of color from the chill of the night and the short hike from the road to the graveyard. His eyes were glassy blue, a warmth within them that Silas recognized well: love. Oh, how Silas despised that man with every bone in his miserable flesh, if only for the fact that this invasive, boorish demon knew the emotion, choice, and passion of love. As if she were mocking him, the angel arose, wiped her teary eye, and allowed the demon to embrace her frame, caressing her lips with a loving kiss. Silas, when he could bear it no longer, turned his head away, toward the passing children and to the gravestone.

Silas' eyes widened in a shock of terrible fear.​

The name on the stone was elaborately etched into the marble, with a Celtic wreath weaved 'round the border. The content was simple, yet to Silas, its message was entirely too horrifying. As he read each letter, the truth bored deeper and deeper into his mind and soul until Death itself had laid an emaciated hand upon his spasming shoulders. Falling to his knees, Silas wanted to retch. He wanted so dearly to vomit the truth from his heart, like a poisoned victim vomits his own blood.​

The truth, as it was, lay written upon that evil marble stone set before him, and there was no escape from its tell-tale terror:​

Here Lay Silas McGarner
Friend - Husband - Father
1773 - 1832​

 

[MrBF1V3]

Good job. Quite well polished for a first draft (mine are often rough).

There is only one thing I would change, if I were the one writing. While you are writing in a third person, omniscient point of view, you are, for most of the story, following the thoughts and actions of Silas. However, in one paragraph you change, after Silas sees the mother and children. For that one paragraph you are hearing the mother's thoughts, and not those of Silas. It was kind of a jarring change, and in fact, gives a little too much of the ending. (IMHO)

For what it's worth.

B5

 

[puttytat190]

nice.

 

[Calminaion]

Second draft installed in the first post.

 

[Xathrus]

I really did like this story. It is extreamly interesting and the ending is sort of unexpected.

 

[Evensong]

The Garden (Second Draft)​

Silas found a certain solace in the garden. It was not so much peculiar as it was certain–consistent, that is. The moon was just now gleaming through the trees, though Silas had been there for some time already. As the moonbeams shot through the limbs of the voiceless sylvan sentinels, Silas’ tears fell with the morning rain. As quickly as the silver light shone through, it relented under the foreboding presence of the oncoming fog and clouds. Such was Silas’ life: as quickly as the good came, so did the seemingly unfortunate.​

If he was truly honest with himself, Silas was glad to see the moon blotted out, as if the earth could share his misery. He almost managed a smirk when the rain chilled his neck and ran down the back of his frock coat, but the rain’s kiss reminded him of a gentler, warmer caress that once was meant for him and him alone. The wind bit at his face, sending snow flakes as an evil, slicing reminder of his current position. It was like that, most of the time: anything and everything reminded Silas of the fact that he was now cold, alone, and suffering from his amputated heart.​

Where once a cheerful heart had rested, there now lay an icy block of coal no mere Scrooge would dare to touch. Colder than the gravestones laying upon the outskirts of the God Field, Silas’ heart was likely to freeze anyone who dare look upon it. His cold, icy green eyes had lost their emerald shine, having been replaced by the ethereal wisps of a dead soul.​

It was after he had been lost in his own despairing prison for the majority of his walk that he happened upon his destination: a gravestone at the end of the cemetery. There, by the elaborate cross that stood a symbol of a faith he once held dear, crouched two small children, accompanied by an angel in a red Victorian dress. The boy was only seven, with red hair, freckles, pale skin, and tears that made his blue eyes shine like stars over the ocean. He buried his grimacing visage into his mother’s hip, seizing at the folds of her dress as if he could somehow keep her from Death’s clutches.​

The young girl was likewise young, with strawberry blonde hair and the same pained grimace. Her green eyes filled with silent tears that cascaded with a burning chill down her baby cheeks, spilling onto the grass at her feet. She stood, silently weeping, staring at the grave. She did clutch her mother’s hand, and every so often whispered a faint and doubting “Why?”​

The angel, of course, was the most radiant creature to have ever graced the earth. Silas watched as she simply stood, doing her best and failing her worst to appear strong before her progeny. The black veil over her brown hair did nigh cover her face, but could not hide the tears and the pain so evident on her facade. It pained Silas to see her, though it felt as though he had never seen her before. Still, he felt a strange familiarity with her, wanting so much just to embrace her beautiful form.​

Silas approached the grave tentatively, stepping lightly across the crystal snow to gaze upon the name on the grave. A chill began to grow like a spider creeping down the bottom of his neck, weaving an evil web as it scuttled down the bone and into his arms and legs. The fog hid the cold sweat on his forehead, but under his collar Silas was a torrent of salty, prespiring fear. He stood over the angel, gazing past her invisible wings, over her velvet-laden shoulder as her scent possessed his mind, increasing the terror growing within him.

It was then that the other man arrived, his cheeks full of color from the chill of the night and the short hike from the road to the graveyard. His eyes were glassy blue, a warmth within them that Silas recognized well: love. Oh, how Silas despised that man with every bone in his miserable flesh, if only for the fact that this invasive, boorish demon knew the emotion, choice, and passion of love. As if she were mocking him, the angel arose, wiped her teary eye, and allowed the demon to embrace her frame, caressing her lips with a loving kiss. Silas, when he could bear it no longer, turned his head away, toward the passing children and to the gravestone.

Silas' eyes widened in a shock of terrible fear.​

The name on the stone was elaborately etched into the marble, with a Celtic wreath weaved 'round the border. The content was simple, yet to Silas, its message was entirely too horrifying. As he read each letter, the truth bored deeper and deeper into his mind and soul until Death itself had laid an emaciated hand upon his spasming shoulders. Falling to his knees, Silas wanted to retch. He wanted so dearly to vomit the truth from his heart, like a poisoned victim vomits his own blood.​

The truth, as it was, lay written upon that evil marble stone set before him, and there was no escape from its tell-tale terror:​

Here Lay Silas McGarner
Friend - Husband - Father
1773 - 1832​

Beautiful!

 

[HumbleMan]

Good story. Do you read Poe much?