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Clive Robinson
Clive Robinson, aged 39, has been a student of environmental planning for the last 7 years and is completing a PhD. He has been writing academically for a few years now which has left him little time to write for pleasure. 'I tend to only write if I have something important to write about, therefore most works are based upon personal experiences and emothions.'
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The Gardener by Clive
Robinson
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Slowly pushing open the huge and solid wooden door leading
to the walled garden, the sound of gravel being crushed
by its great weight, the nervousness of her breath as her
feet slid back on the wet soil, the little girl eagerly
anticipated the adventure ahead of her. As the door gave
way and fell wide open, the sudden rush of sunlight sent
her twisting to avert her gaze from the brilliance. Closed
tight she dared not open her eyes, but she could wait no
longer and with childish exuberance flung herself forward
onto the lawn that spread out before her. Now, wide eyed,
she looked at the sights before her, the sun shone off the
flowers and radiated their beauty. She turned and danced
and sang, full of excitement, a blur of colour and sweet
smells surrounded her, she had never been so happy.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, there before her stood
a giant silhouetted figure, its dark shadow stretching out,
draped over her like a blanket of night. She looked up tentatively,
and smiled the smile of innocence.
Without warning, a massive blow sent her down on her knees,
the grass beneath her faded out of focus, she could no longer
smell the sweet scent of the flowers only the acrid smell
of her own fear. Collapsing, she curled up as the shadow
of the Gardener moved over her, a dark figure, so very familiar
yet so unrecognisable. The child wept silently as one blow
followed another, until everything around her faded away
and darkness threw its cloak around her.
Slowly, time passed! Gradually she began to gain consciousness.
She lay silent, listening for the gardener. She could sense
him all around her but could hear nothing. Just a fraction
at a time she opened her eyes; the light was dull but still
hurt her, something was terribly wrong. The lawn had been
covered by a blanket of stinging plants and thorns, a blanket
that had completely enveloped her. She could feel the constant
agony of their stings. Checking herself for injury she gently
felt around her body, she could not believe what her hands
had discovered, her legs were different, her hair was long,
her body had changed shape, this was not her body, she was
only a little girl. Shock overtaking fear, she sat bolt
upright, her legs before her, the legs of a woman. Scrunching
up her face she tried to remember what had happened, once
she鈥檇 been a happy little girl, now she was a little
girl living in the body of a ripped and torn woman.
Anger gripped her as she grabbed a handful of the stinging
plants. Pulling them from the ground she threw them in a
pile beside her and wept. Her hand was in agony, she turned
it over and watched in horror as a droplet of blood fell
silently to the small patch of uncovered earth below. Splashing
into a thousand droplets, her blood showered a tiny rain
upon the barren soil and there began to grow a single blade
of grass. She stared. The blade grew. She realised! Fear
left and determination strode in, she stood up.
The arms of a woman flailed madly about her, ripping and
twisting. She dug with her nails and her heals, until she
collapsed with exhaustion.
It was the warmth that woke her, as the sun shone on her
face. She rolled over and stretched, feeling the cushion
of soft green lawn beneath her. Here face felt the tickle
of the grass and she breathed its sweet fragrance. Rolling
gently over she propped herself up on her elbows and surveyed
the high wall of poison that surrounded her tiny lawn. She
remembered the pain of yesterday, the rage, the determination
and as her eyes fell to the young grass, she realised what
she should do.
Time passed, she sweated, she bled and she toiled. With
each day the lawn grew and as each pile of the molestation
died and rotted away, she could feel the influence of the
gardener diminish. Some days she cleared large areas, on
others the pain of aching muscles and bleeding limbs was
too much for her to bear and she accomplished little. On
those days, the days when depression took over, the evil
sowed its seeds. Between the lush green shoots climbed the
twisted thorny seedlings, all she could do was despair.
She was caught, caught in a circle of never ending pain,
the more weeds she cleared, the more grass grew and the
bigger the area she had to defend. She could not keep up,
as one place was cleared another was slowly, relentlessly
infested.
Why bother? She thought and sat back to let the demons devour
their prize. That was it, she would accept her position
as the prey, and let the Gardener have his quarry. If she
was stung enough the poison would surely kill her and then
she would be released.
Preoccupied with her thoughts, she had not noticed the deep
low scrape as the door to the garden was eased open, or
the sigh of a young man as he looked in sadness at the desolation
before him. He could not comprehend how a gardener had failed
so appallingly in their duties to nurture and protect the
garden and everything within it. Shaking his head is dismay
he pulled on his heavy coat and pushed his way through the
stinging ripping forest towards the sadly diminished clearing
in the middle.
He stopped. He had frightened her, he had not meant to,
he did not know she was there. He stared. She cowered. He
blinked and shook his head once to recover his thoughts.
Tentatively he raised his hands, palms outstretched and
spoke gently to her. She could not look at him, she could
not hear his words. She felt dirty and unkempt, her skin
was covered in scabs and blisters, she did not know if he
was a demon sent by the Gardener to trick her. She was so
afraid.
With a tear in his eye, the young man stepped forward, taking
a handkerchief from his pocket he reached her. Calming words
emanated from him and she felt the soft touch of the cloth
as he wiped the dirt away from her eyes. She looked at him
and saw in his face concern for her, not a dark malice,
not disgust at her condition, but genuine sympathy and desire
to help. She let him stay.
Together they cleared the centre of the garden and when
she grew tired, he tended her and quietly removed the seedlings
of evil. He knew that this was her garden and that he could
not remove the forest of pain that surrounded them, but
he could give her strength and help to heal her wounds.
Day after day he patiently dressed the fresh wounds from
her toils, held her when it became too much and praised
her for her progress.
A long time passed, the borders of the flower beds were
reached, the lawn was flat and succulent and free from weeds.
The time had come to plant new flowers. In amongst the chaff
they had discovered the dried and tattered remains of many
flowers, they had separated the seeds and put them aside.
Now was the time to plant those seeds, this was their first
spring together. With joy in their hearts they planted many
seeds and watched as the seedlings grew. They sat together
as the flowers bloomed and filled the garden with exotic
scents, the insects and birds came into the garden and the
sun shone on them.
At night when it was dark and quiet, she would sometimes
wake up with the feeling that the Gardener was back, and
she would curl up with fear. She knew he was banished to
the heap of dying rotting vegetation in the compost heap,
but she felt him grasping out for a hold on her. At these
times she would curl up and remember the pain she had been
through, the help the young man gave her and the beauty
that now surrounded her. She knew that she was now secure
in the garden. It cannot be said that when she tended the
garden she did not find the saplings of evil amongst the
flowers. However, she was now prepared. She would don her
thick gloves and with a trowel in one hand, would calmly
remove the stinging plant, banishing it to the furthest
corner of the garden where it would rot in silence. A wry
smile on her face it gave her satisfaction that all the
dying pain would be transformed, the evil would be made
good and feed the beauty that now surrounded her.
Slowly pushing open the huge and solid wooden door leading
to the walled garden, the sound of gravel being crushed
by its great weight, the nervousness of her breath as her
feet slid back on the wet soil, the little girl eagerly
anticipated the adventure ahead of her. As the door gave
way and fell wide open, the sudden rush of sunlight sent
her twisting to avert her gaze from the brilliance. Closed
tight she dared not open her eyes, but she could wait no
longer and with childish exuberance flung herself forward
onto the lawn that spread out before her. Now, wide eyed,
she looked at the sights before her, the sun shone off the
flowers and radiated their beauty. She turned and danced
and sang, full of excitement, a blur of colour and sweet
smells surrounded her, she had never been so happy.
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks, there before her stood
a giant silhouetted figure, its dark shadow stretching out,
draped over her like a blanket of night. She looked up tentatively,
and smiled the smile of innocence.
Without warning a warm sound met her ears and she turned
to see the smiling faces of a woman and a man beside her.
The woman bent over towards her, her face coming into to
focus. She had a kind face, a face worn by the sun and the
rain, wrinkled by time and faintly marked by long since
faded scars.
She spoke. 鈥淔ear not my child, enjoy the beauty within
these walls. Smell the flowers, dance and sing, for I shall
look after you and keep you safe鈥.
Proudly the woman stood up, her gaze swept slowly from the
child, passed her partner to the garden beyond and then
back. Smiling more deeply she stated, 鈥 For I am the
Gardener Now!鈥
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