Deceptive Appearances

The soft pitter-patter of footsteps mingled with the early morning bird calls of spring and just like the creatures within it, the Garden was in full bloom. Sneezing through a cloud of pollen, Rose fumbled with a fig drooping from a nearby branch. She didn’t know any other name, it was the one the Garden had chosen for her when she had awoken. When she had looked into one of the many deep ponds built into the overgrown buildings, she saw what many people would see. Perhaps a little wrinkled, weathered by some other unfriendly sun Rose might not have been the prettiest flower by some standards. But although she could not form the words to vocalise it, she knew as well as felt that this place had already chosen the name.

Chewing on her fruit, Rose sat amongst the ancient stones of one of her favourite building. Cut into blocks from top to bottom, from yellow and mossy stone it was for the most part the same as the others built into the landscape. What made it her favourite however, was that at the very peak of a half exposed spiral staircase the pool she had first awoke next to was set. Deeper than all the others, impossibly so it seemed to disobey the rules that the Garden itself was set. The staircase which curled upwards half hidden by a collapsed tower surely did not allow for such a marvellous, bottomless pool. But such thoughts were petty, for it is pointless to question the why of some things Rose had learnt, especially with an abundance of such fine fruit. Feet dangling into the cool waters of the pool, one could see until the ends of the world from atop that tower. Higher than all the rest it was an endless see of green dotted by buildings without architects. A world without a creator. Rose blinked. Quivered. Something wasn’t quite right. With an almighty crash, a tree in the far distance collapsed. A tree in need of mending. The hole that the tree left, Rose could feel in her heart. A hurt that needed mending.

The Garden’s paths were quiet, eerily so. Instead of the vigour of life there was something else in its place. Grasping, clawing and sickly. The stones felt cold, instead of warm and as she approached where the tree had fallen an unpleasant feeling rose in her chest. Run, flee, and return. Each footstep harder that the last, her breathing became ragged. Laughter, song, dancing feet upon soil. Emerging into a clearing of trampled earth, Rose noted a roaring fire and a heinous wooden shack next to it. Five men and women turned to look at her, wearing strange skins and each with a tooth around their necks.

‘Would you like to share our fire? You look cold.’ The oldest amongst them strode forward, frowning at Rose’s naked body, although she could not quite ascertain why.

‘Why have you done this?’ She asked, pointing towards the hut they had built. ‘There are many places to lay your head, there is no need to carve trees in their place.’

‘But those buildings are of cold stone and full of drafts, far too cold for a winter’s night.’ Said a woman, only slightly younger than the man who had first addressed her.

‘Then tell me why you have slaughtered a deer? It is far too big for only five to eat.’ Rose asked again, this time pointing to the remains of a once great beast lying half butchered next to the fire.

‘Because we prefer the taste to birds and fish.’ Said a young man, barely out of adolescence. Scowling, Rose left them to their festivities. She did not bother asking of the fire, because she knew their heads and bellies were too full while their hearts were too empty to respond with truth. She only hoped that her words had sparked some sense of feeling in their hearts.

Days passed, and from her favourite pool Rose did not see any more trees fall. Elated, she chose to walk amongst the trunks and roots of the trees. When she paused to pick a small apple from a nearby tree, the laboured breathing of a woodland creature piqued her interest. Crouched amongst the underbrush was a young boar. Snuffling at the approach of a familiar friend, the creature nuzzled into the palm of her hand. Rose knew this one’s mother, over the course of many seasons she had watched her grow and eventually give birth to a litter. Now one of her children lay dying, the long shaft of a spear caught in its throat.

‘So you found our beast aye? God specimen isn’t he?’ Striding over and standing next to her, the oldest man from the night before and what could only be assumed to be his grandson appraised their prize while it slowly ceased breathing.

‘I helped raise this one, its mother before it too. It suffered beyond what was necessary.’

‘Ah, well I'm afraid we din’t know it was your pig an’ all.’ The man’s voice trailed off when he realised that Rose was in fact, pointedly ignoring him.

‘No more.’ With a shared sob of anguish, Rose stood back up from where she knelt beside her dead friend. With a brief shriek, both men discovered too late what was happening as roots overtook their bodies, moving more quickly than any tree had rights to. She might not have commanded it, but the Garden knew her will as she knew it’s. And as she turned her gaze towards the “home” that these new comers had built, they both felt a shared conviction.

When Rose awoke the next morning within the small den she had made for herself below the pool, she felt a strange absence of memory lingering within her. A feeling she had not experienced since her first dawn within the Garden. But with that came a sense of newfound joy. For while she could not see them, five new souls had joined her. Rose knew they would find her in time, along with their new names. And as she rose to take her place at the tip of the tower, morning meal of fruit in hand she smiled. As it turned out, she did not have to heal the hole in the Garden where they had committed their crime, as it had grown back on its own. They need not know it had ever occurred either, because if she had awoken without hers, she could only assume memory prior to the Garden was a burden.