The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

An abstract short story that brushes on how bizarre the nature of school is and how we as students accepted it not knowing its impact on us. The inability to alter uniforms, the daily timings since th

Before me, a picturesque of one I saw for years back that yield blithe beckoning. A scenery of

green Haute drapes and peach colours adorning a garden. Before me, a picturesque of one I saw

for years back but never the same. A garden scattered with infinite baby breaths imitating the

twinkling of stars (which they never saw). The sky amid royal blue was too hierarchical to be

gazed upon and the surroundings were cased �" no, rather cramped inside fragile glass that

appeared transparent but shows none of what lays on the other side. Trees with branches that

never break, sprouting with fruits of all colours; bushes patterned with white unscented white

bland roses later to be taken care off to fit the rest of the atmosphere, be careful, the roses aren’t

flowers at all, flowers have mouth-watering scents and dreamy colours, not clumped thorns!

Upon entering the garden, you’ll glimpse a peaceful sound of a bell that rings and never stops

ringing, just stretching its frequency until you wouldn’t realize its ringing anymore. Closer! And

you’ll notice the chirping of the Canary birds that seems compatible with the rest of the abode,

howbeit was bizarrely stationary around the entire garden �" walk further and its singing won't get

quieter, remaining constant for the rest of your life.

As for time, it remained the same, nothing was truly far or near, or present; a paradox repeating

itself throughout history. Spring lingered longer, the temperature was always optimum and

neither did the produce of harvest or the types of flowers appear different. Only at one point does

this Edenic garden spits out one of its angels out once they're unable to digest fruits and flowers

anymore.

The sun never rose or sat, elliptic but no night ever took place. Yes, it was ideal, trees couldn’t

respire at night, therefore, fruits won't grow: perhaps its why they never slept, the children of

course.

The garden was occupied with aloof adolescents aspiring to prosper with what fruits are to be

picked from the tree during the afternoon (and only the afternoon). Winsome, no “imperfections”

and features of the highest tier. Strangely they all looked alike too: glass-like cream skin

embellished with glossy eyelids and even glossier lips, not a solitary flaw to be found- not even

in their bone structures.

A heavenly as it sounds, they behaved barbaric (if that’s what they did in the first place). The

same faint smile plastered all their faces indicating that nothing was taking place in the synapses

of their brain as if they were systemized to do the same thing and conversate the same topics.

A chatter you'll hear! Once in a while (although the passage of time was brink) the flower

children pitying the wardens. I suppose they control our ecosystem �" make sure nothing ever

changes to suit the children's comfort; the Wardens later on drowned in fruition for so long

they’ve forgotten how the natural construction of children is. Maybe they aren’t so wise.

Yes, they were crowned! Cherished but at the cost of their retinas, flowers clasped around their

eyes polishing their appearance further. The flowers soaked them in comfort, the felt belonging

to the garden and the blithe beckoning I felt first entering beckoned closer as the crowns were

nearly complete. The Wardens built their crowns over time ( morning and afternoons), each

flower for each fruit �" they all held weight however, the apple from the orchard is not worth the

peach in value.

But once time begins to fold itself, the time that somehow seemed so far they didn’t think they’ll

respire long enough to reach is now only hours away. The crowns have blinded them to perceive

it’s the only fruits they need, so when the garden spits one of the children out into a universe

where time isn’t fixed and neither is the ecosystem, the dumbfounded smile begins to explain

itself and the only cost is to paint the white roses in the bush that needed to be taken care of (that

aren’t flowers) red, each hue from a different child's head, and as unfathomable as it may sound,

comfort was the only thing they thought they needed, surrounded by a place flourishing with

wilted fruits, I too found myself to believe. What has been done will be done again until you are

vomited out and must adapt to the exteriors as you did once before with the Edenic garden.