A green Soul

A Story by magenta24uk

She had given everything to her garden. EVERYTHING.

She had known from the start that her days would end up like this.

Bed bound with no way of escape.

She had planned for this from the moment she got the diagnosis. While she was still physically able to she had moved her bed to the front of the house and set up the room to her best advantage. The television was facing her and did not suffer glare from the large window by her bed. The bed had an inbuilt function so she could press a button and it sat her up. A small table beside her held remotes for the blinds, air conditioning and television; it also had space for a tea tray and some books. Her laptop was attached to a special arm that could be lowered to the bed when she wanted to write or surf the internet. She had been out in the front garden working hard to make her small patch of land ready for the day when she would be stuck by this window for the rest of her days. Able only to view the world through those panes of glass, forever looking out at her tiny garden.

She loved gardening and had carefully put bulbs in the ground in lines of different types, each one bloomed at a specific time of year. This meant she would always have something to look at and always have a new flower to enjoy. As each flower bloomed she could see the passing of the months. Bees and butterflies visited and birds came to feast on the berries and worms, her days were filled with their busy lives and always the sweet smell of her flowers came through the partially opened window. She even enjoyed the brutal side of garden life, birds spearing worms with their sharp little beaks, the bees killing wasps that came too close to their small hive. It was all part of nature and she enjoyed and loved it, after all even plants thrived well on blood and bone fertilizer. She felt more alive staring out at the life in her garden than staring at the flashing television in the corner.

Nurses came and went, they washed her and fed her. She didn’t pay much attention to those things. She appreciated all that the carers and nurses did but her mind was too taken by the new flashes of colour as the Crocuses came peeking out of their green cases. The bright vivid scene made her feel revived and nourished in a way that food could no longer achieve.

Her garden was her pride and joy. Flowers and trees, bushes seedlings all of it meant more to her than relationships or adventure, maybe that is why she had never married or why she had never really travelled. She was a gardener to her core; she even had a flowery name. ‘Rose’. Her mother had said it was the perfect name for her, beautiful but with a hidden sharpness. Rose had always been proud of that. She loved her hidden strength and she loved her flowers.

Rose had always worked in gardens or garden centres. She had transformed some of the biggest gardens in the area and some of the largest houses nearby had the most beautiful grounds and they owed their thanks to Rose.

Rose understood the flowers; she knew what they needed and how to give it to them. It was said about some people that they had a green thumb, Rose’s customers and managers always said that Rose had a green soul.

As the Crocuses began to lose their bloom the Tulips started to show their tiny green heads and Rose smiled anew at the young shoots, her children, her babies beginning to grow.

As she lost the movement in her arms specialists fitted bags to feed her and take away waste. She had made it clear a long time ago that she refused to go into hospital and she paid a fortune for the nurses and carers to come and look after her. But what else should she spend it on? She had no family left and no children except her plants; whatever was left over when she was gone would only go to her favourite gardeners trust.

Rose was happy at home. She could see her beautiful flowers, love them and feel their love in return.

That night something happened, the local lads were drunk and bored. They kicked down the tiny white fence that ran along the edge of Rose’s garden and they pulled up all the green they could see or feel. They smashed bulbs and ripped up the tiny bushes that framed the small space. Why did they do it? Maybe Rose had once told them to stay out of her garden when they were playing ball? Maybe they had seen her staring day after day out of the window and thought she looked at them in a disapproving manner? Either way they took out their frustrations on the frail flowers and ruined all they could. Running drunkenly into the night laughing and chanting; a hand full of half dead Crocuses as their prize.

Rose woke up to her world in carnage and the shock almost stopped her heart.

She cried as the nurses came and asked her what had happened. Rose didn’t know, the medication she was on was strong and sent her into a deep slumber at night. Some kindly carers went out into the garden and tidied up. They re-planted some of the bulbs and added some new ones. They fixed the fence and did their best to make it nice again. Rose was thankful and knew they had done their best but most of the plants had been damaged beyond help. Rose felt herself fading away as the day went on. She stared at the garden and wished above all else that she could have protected her babies.

As evening fell and the nurses went home, no one was there to see the machines stop beeping or to see Rose’s chest stop going up and down and her breath falter.

Returning to the scene that night, they came back, fuelled on glee and destruction. The little mended fence was no match for their large strong feet and even in the dark they could see that someone had tidied up their triumphant mess. This just made them angrier. The moon went behind a cloud and the teenage boys began to feel about in the dirt for the shoots to pull them out again. They didn’t see the roses spreading out across the tiny garden, racing towards their questing fingers.

As they giggled and fumbled in the dark their hands grasped and closed on sharp barbs, the thick green branches of the low lying bush tripped them, sending them splaying across the floor. As they fumbled about on the ground they felt the hidden thorns, the roses seemed to be everywhere and they covered the garden with their razor strands. Spikes struck out and scratched at the boys, leaving welts and cuts on any exposed skin. Some cried out and tried to move away towards safety but the spear covered stems caught in their clothes and dragged them back. The strong, sharp thorns scratched their faces and began to wrap themselves around the yobs like barbed wire. Piercing and cutting. One large lad was caught in the eye, he fell to the ground and screamed a wail of agony that made the others fight harder against the tendrils of this vengeful plant.

The long green stems began to engulf the large fallen youth, binding themselves tightly around his flailing limbs.

As the others finally ripped their way out stumbling into each other, bloody; their clothes torn and faced slashed, they ran up the path away from the pain and terror, leaving behind their fallen comrade. The roots of the bush began to burrow into his skin and as he screamed they cut him short by filling his warm wet mouth with their needy growths, finding a place to thrive. Slowly they worked their way into his eye sockets and twisted into his ears and nostrils, finding more warmth, more wetness. The flailing stopped and the boy’s prone body was now covered with dirt and greenery. The rose bush that had grown unexpectedly and with fervour was finally still after enjoying its late night snack of bone and blood and on her bed inside the house Rose lay still as well. A smile on her cold lips, she had peace at last.

© 2015 magenta24uk

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Featured Review

barleygirl

Very imaginative & well-written with tons of imagery that's so true-to-life for this situation. I've also been rendered housebound quite a bit in recent years & I've got my place arranged similarly, so that my greatest joy, seeing outside & into my garden, surrounded by wilderness, helps me feel unimpeded in life & in my writing, too. This is such fun, as the rose bush deals out karma & Rose rests in peace! *smile* The mechanics of your writing & also your storytelling are both very strong & compelling! Fondly, Margie

Posted 6 Years Ago

1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

6 Years Ago

Thank you, that is a lovely review. I am sorry to hear of your situation and glad the story could in.. read more

Reviews

Les

Your skill is in the sadness you bring out in the reader as he/she works through this piece and, then, just when you almost think that you can't bear to read the likely ending, there comes the twist! Really nicely and cleverly done.