Post by Tim on May 25, 2014 3:24:12 GMT -8
(Quick little rough draft)
He walked down the stone path, his hands grasping brand new tools. The stone path was clearly new as well, for it showed not a single smudge of dirt. Before him was a small building that he had just recently finished. It was odd thing to build, it had been a very long time since he wished for so many windows. A greenhouse they called it. “Odd name that, its painted red” he thought.
This night he had an extra spring in his step. For just recently he had started a brand new hobby. It was time to inspect his work. “A dead man growing new life!” he said out loud with a laugh. The others thought him strange for taking up gardening. But it felt so right to him. The fresh scent of dirt, the cool crisp water, the warmth of his flowers. It gave him a sense of serenity that he had not felt in sometime.
As the closed the door behind him he took a quick glance at his work. How proud he was! Each Rose was meticulously cared for, all six of them. On the wall hung a detailed report of each Rose’s progress. He was very careful with them ever since he lost his first and favorite. A small frown drew across his face. The Roses almost appeared to quiver in response.
He walked up to the first and took it in hand. “Hmmm….. yes, very good.” The leaves on this one had begun to heal nicely. The dirt was still moist, the stem felt strong and the flower was a bright red. A fine specimen it was. He raised his hand and watered the first.
As he approached the second of his Roses he noticed that it had not fared as well as the first. Some of its leaves had wilted and browned. “No no no, this will not do.” He took out his small knife and begun to… “It preen? Am I preening? No no no.. that's for birds I think.” Suddenly he was filled with glee, “A peacock! I should have a peacock!” He cut away the rest of the unwanted mass that stole the beauty of his Rose.
His inspection of the next few Roses was done quickly. It was almost like they knew to show their best. But the last, the sixth, made him frown. The flower was no longer beautiful. It drooped down against itself. He was becoming tired of dealing with this one. He gave it his love, he cared for it. But did it care? No! Frustrated he drew his knife once more. “Time to start again” he sighed. He sliced it right in the middle of the stem. The pot fell to the floor, dirt spilled everywhere. All around him the Roses react.
He turned to face them, brandishing his knife. His eyes were full of rage. “Roses do not scream!”
He walked down the stone path, his hands grasping brand new tools. The stone path was clearly new as well, for it showed not a single smudge of dirt. Before him was a small building that he had just recently finished. It was odd thing to build, it had been a very long time since he wished for so many windows. A greenhouse they called it. “Odd name that, its painted red” he thought.
This night he had an extra spring in his step. For just recently he had started a brand new hobby. It was time to inspect his work. “A dead man growing new life!” he said out loud with a laugh. The others thought him strange for taking up gardening. But it felt so right to him. The fresh scent of dirt, the cool crisp water, the warmth of his flowers. It gave him a sense of serenity that he had not felt in sometime.
As the closed the door behind him he took a quick glance at his work. How proud he was! Each Rose was meticulously cared for, all six of them. On the wall hung a detailed report of each Rose’s progress. He was very careful with them ever since he lost his first and favorite. A small frown drew across his face. The Roses almost appeared to quiver in response.
He walked up to the first and took it in hand. “Hmmm….. yes, very good.” The leaves on this one had begun to heal nicely. The dirt was still moist, the stem felt strong and the flower was a bright red. A fine specimen it was. He raised his hand and watered the first.
As he approached the second of his Roses he noticed that it had not fared as well as the first. Some of its leaves had wilted and browned. “No no no, this will not do.” He took out his small knife and begun to… “It preen? Am I preening? No no no.. that's for birds I think.” Suddenly he was filled with glee, “A peacock! I should have a peacock!” He cut away the rest of the unwanted mass that stole the beauty of his Rose.
His inspection of the next few Roses was done quickly. It was almost like they knew to show their best. But the last, the sixth, made him frown. The flower was no longer beautiful. It drooped down against itself. He was becoming tired of dealing with this one. He gave it his love, he cared for it. But did it care? No! Frustrated he drew his knife once more. “Time to start again” he sighed. He sliced it right in the middle of the stem. The pot fell to the floor, dirt spilled everywhere. All around him the Roses react.
He turned to face them, brandishing his knife. His eyes were full of rage. “Roses do not scream!”