Oliver's Garden

An icy gale howled through the iron gate, heralding Oliver's return to his family's garden. The young man, clad in a purple parka and a yellow woolen cap, pulled a key from his pocket and grated it against the rusty lock. He pulled at the ring handle, but a leafless thorn hedge, tightly wrapped around the bars, fought bravely to keep the gate shut. A forceful tug, however, sent bits of branches fluttering to the ground and the portal to Oliver's childhood realm swung open with a wretched wail.

The hedge still denied him entry, as if bound by knightly honor. More of its spindly arms, woven into a spiky lattice, blocked his passage. A gentle smile on his lips Oliver took out his hedge clippers and cut a gaping hole into the sapless guardian. He whistled a merry spring tune as he slipped through, trailing a large bag behind.

Over the years the stone path through the garden, once roofed by a rose trellis, had crumbled away under an army of weeds. As a little boy Oliver had helped tearing the brash offenders out from between the slabs. He had loved the sound of stems snapping and the grassy smell of sap, streaming over his fingers.

"I want to be a gardener," young Oliver had proudly announced to his mother. She had been trimming the roses.

"Pulling up weeds is only half the job, Oliver," she had answered with a silvery laugh. "A good gardener needs a gentle heart. You have to show your plants love and care as well!"

The wind chased rust-colored leaves through the passage under the trellis, which had long since been conquered by rampant vines. The loose foliage sought refuge in the branchlets but vines and leaves fell alike to Oliver's hedge clippers. The withered twigs cracked under his soles and the leaves crumbled to dust as he dragged his bag over their corpses.

At the end of the trellis Oliver paused and blew into his hands. His breath bloomed into the freezing air like a ghostly flower. He looked around and scowled at the straggly shrubs and creepers, claiming former flower beds. The garden had been so beautiful, so vibrant when he'd been a child. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see the daisies, violets, dahlias and lilies wafting in the morning wind, their heads bowed in deference until the sun prompted them to show their pretty faces. Then young Oliver would stride through their ranks like a fairy-tale prince, showing himself to his enchanted subjects. He would climb the fruit trees to oversee his magic kingdom and graciously accept their juicy offerings. Oliver smiled at the opulent image in his mind. He deeply inhaled the memory of fragrant flowers and tasted imaginary apples, pears and cherries, mellow and sweet.

An eerie tune whistled through the air and from afar the hoarse caw of a raven sounded. Oliver opened his eyes and frowned. It would take time to restore his magic realm to its former glory but he was patient. Tender shoots, colorful flowers, sweet fruits - they would all return to revere and regale their legitimate prince. Oliver laughed. No longer prince - he was a king now! Before he could claim his rightful throne though, Oliver had to be a gardener, just as his mother had taught him. Loving. Caring. A gardener carrying a gentle heart. A winter-withered thistle jabbed at his leg and he crushed it under his boot.

The delicate flowers had all died a long time ago but most of the orchard was still standing. Two apple trees marked its entry and Oliver sighed at the dreary sight of his old friends. He remembered how they'd stood tall and straight, competing for a young boy's love of heights and sweet apples. Now, clinging to each other with their knobbly branches intertwined, they resembled frightened, old men holding gout-ridden hands. Their gnarly roots, clawing into the ground, forced Oliver to shoulder his bag and carry it over their crippled toes.

As he stepped over the roots, his foot got caught in a wooden snare and he stumbled. A sharp pain shot up his ankle. The bag slipped from his grip. He flailed his arms, desperate to regain his balance. Oliver finally managed to tear his foot free and leaned heavily against one of the furrowed trunks. Rubbing his ankle he scowled up at the apple trees; they could have broken his leg. He would have to cut them down. The thought pained him but Oliver couldn't afford to shy away from harsh decisions if he wanted his kingdom back. However, he neither had the tools nor the time to execute his verdict, so he hobbled on to the plum tree alley, his heavy bag in tow.

The meager plum trees bowed their bald boughs. As he passed under the last one, Oliver heard a cracking sound from above. A snapped branch, hanging only by a few fibers, dangled over his head but the tree held on to its broken limb as if afraid to harm its rightful sovereign. The plum trees had always been cowards, Oliver thought with a chuckle, surrendering their fruits to every passing vermin and presenting nothing but either sour or rotten offerings to their ruler. He had never particularly liked them, but he'd decide their fate later. He was close to his target now. Across the duck pond he could already see the old willow tree, awaiting his return. Its hanging branches glistened white with frost and swayed majestically in the chilly breeze.
 
Oliver reached the verge of the pond without any more obstacles. An apparently thick layer of ice on the water's surface invited him to take a shortcut but he didn't trust the offer. It would be too easy to trap him in the freezing water or to snatch his bag away from him. Obviously, his subjects were in a foul mood today, so he took the safer route around the pond.

As he reached the willow, Oliver cautiously lowered his bag to the ground. "I brought you another present old friend," he whispered and affectionately patted the willow's wrinkled bark. The tree's boughs creaked in the wind.

Oliver pulled a pickax and a shovel from the bag's side pocket and got to work. The frozen ground fought boldly but he knew how to break its resistance; he had done it many times before. Once the hole under the willow tree was deep enough, he knelt beside the bag and opened its main compartment.

The girl's murky eyes stared up at the murky winter sky. Her name was Rose. The cold had made her even prettier, Oliver thought as he gently stroked the girl's cheek. She looked like a fairy-tale princess - her face white as snow, her hair black as ebony and the gaping hole in her chest rust-red as dried blood. Oliver gathered her in his arms and eased her down into her frigid bed. Then he dropped a few rose seeds into the girl's open heart and covered her body with soil.

Oliver stood and clapped his hands clean. "Take good care of our new princess, make sure her sleep is not disturbed," he warned the willow good-naturedly and smiled. His gaze swept over the other flower beds he had laid out during the past months. In spring he would return to see the Daisys, Violets, Dahlias, Lilys and Roses bloom. He had a good feeling that this time he'd succeed. And once his realm would be restored to its former beauty, surely his subjects would love him again. Then he would truly be king - King Oliver, the Gentle Gardener.

Author's Note

30.8.15 - v2 - edited version, hopefully with better narrative flow :-)

26.8.15 - v1 - Not sure this is quite finished, it still feels a bit rough in some places. So all thoughts and suggestions are most welcome!

Reviews

[Irish SOaP]

Now this is very well written. Firstly I really enjoyed this just because of the slow moving walk through the garden. Until the end. Then my mouth was wide open. So did he actually open her heart and put in rose seeds?

Is that his mom? I got bamboozled into thinkning that this is a nice guy. Wait is he? Now I want a next part or something!

Also you said that english is your second laugange right? If so WOW you really got good at it. Hope you best! Maybe you should write a novella as an experiment? I'm sure you could deliver something great!

[Kaliope]

Thank you very much for kind words! Indeed, Oliver opened his victim's heart to plant roses, but she's not his mom. The poor young man just took his mother's advice about gardening and gentle hearts a bit too literally, so he keeps killing girls that are named after flowers. Just a minor misunderstanding on his behalf really, he's actually a nice guy (apart from the serial killer thing) ;-)
I'm glad you liked my story and I am currently working on several novels, some of them collaboration projects. The first collaboration novel was finished in April and will be published within the next few months :-)

[Samuel Dickens]

I find this work to be highly-imaginative, inspired, and very entertaining. The last bit was a surprise, and shed a different light upon the preceding words, causing me to think of the classic fairy tales. A nice work as is, it could improve some with the use of a few more commas and a tiny bit of tightening in a spot or two. Here is one example. You wrote, "I want to be a gardener," young Oliver had proudly announced to his mother. She had been trimming the roses." Here is a suggested change--"I want to be a gardener," young Oliver proudly announced to his mother, who trimmed roses nearby.

[Kaliope]

Thank you very much for this wonderful review! Ah, yes - punctuation... definitely not my strong point. Unfortunately the rules are quite different in my native language and I have barely mastered them there but it's definitely on my bucket list to get better at this :-)
Thank you also for the example how to tighten the text. I'm all for conciseness and I'll make sure to come back to this text after a few weeks and see how to improve it. Right now the story's still quite fresh in my mind and I find that editing works better with a bit of distance - but I'll certainly keep your suggestion in mind!

[Donald Meikle]

Now this reads like poetry should and creates a feeling of kinship with a growing child only to shatter it with what he has become. Your descriptions definitely brought nature to life. (Poetic duty)

[Kaliope]

Glad you liked this one! Thank you very much for your review :-)

[Daisy]

[Emiko Tagahushi]

Damn that was really, really good. It's difficult to say which is my favorite out of all your works, but I this one has to be near the top of the list. The descriptions are beautiful. I especially loved the line "The withered twigs cracked under his soles and the leaves crumbled to dust as he dragged his bag over their corpses." This is totally a foreshadow, and the way you incorporate all of the foreshadowing (like his foot getting caught in the roots and his smug attitude towards the plants) is really smooth.

I also liked the paragraph describing the old apple trees as old men. Your personifications are really well thought out and help us envision the garden even better than just straight out describing what the plants look like. With your work I just have to slow down and soak it all in because you take such time on your diction. You do a really good job.

And THAT ENDING! Such a twist! The descriptions were so beautiful in his memories but the actual garden was just a graveyard - dang that was so awesome how you did that!

I suppose the only critique I might give is the one line starting with "An eerie tune..." I felt like I was reading along and then suddenly bumped into this description and did a double take. What exactly does an eerie tune sound like? I want to hear it! Your descriptions are fabulous, so I know you can find the words to describe it. Other than that, the piece was absolutely amazing. :)

[Kaliope]

Thank you so much for the wonderful review! This was the most difficult piece I've written so far, balancing out the atmosphere, foreshadowing and flashbacks proved to be rather tricky so I'm relieved that I didn't result in a complete mess :-)
And thanks for pointing out the issue with the sound description, I'll try to come up with a better one. This was basically what I had in mind: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4hsXlP6vKjs so if you have any advice I'd be most grateful :-D

[Emiko Tagahushi]

Hahahahaha!! I was so wary of clicking that Youtube link because I thought maybe it would be creepy, but it was so funny! Thanks for that lol. Okay, okay. Well, I'm not sure how to describe it myself. I can tell you how I felt - and maybe that will help you describe it? To me - it felt chilled - like cold metal running under your skin. Ugh - that's creepy lol. That doesn't really match the word use in the story, but I hope that helps a little. :)

[Kaliope]

Thanks for your insights Emiko. Haha, I was snickering when i read that you were afraid to click the link. Come on, I wouldn't lead you to anything scary, now would i? Well, come to think of it.... maybe next time ;-)
I'll see what I can do when I get around to edit this piece. Ah, so much to do and so little time...

[JMKane117]

The first line is incredibly seductive! I wanted to keep reading. However, in the first paragraph, "Oliver remembered..." immediately starts telling rather than showing, which anywhere else in the body would work fine, because it's only a sentence, but it doesn't sit well in the beginning. I wanted to know about Oliver in the present at the beginning. I'm sure there's a better way to introduce magic instead.

This line: "His mother had always referred to the garden's plants as if she'd been their gracious queen and Oliver their prince." Telegraphed the ending for me. I think if you got rid of it, it should fix that.

Otherwise, beautiful writing as always. It's a pleasure reading your words. I even took some notes on your word combinations.

[Kaliope]

Yikes, I totally see what you mean on both accounts. I felt something was wrong but couldn't put my finger on it, so a thousand thanks for pointing that out.

And thank you for the great compliment!

[M. Black]

the descriptions were great, and I loved how you used the metaphor of a kingdom for the garden. Reminds me of one of my favourite stories, "The Secret Garden", apart from the whole burying a body bit :)
great work once again!

[Kaliope]

Thank you, I'm glad you like it! The Secret Garden is one of my favorite stories too, so some of the inspiration definitely originated from that :-)