Short Stories of the Garden

The Sun- August

Once upon a time, someone called them the sun. A thankful bow and a grateful whisper under one's breath. It made one of their ears twitch as they turned around in surprise.

The little old woman smiled gently at them and motioned them to leave. Their task was done after all, and they have siblings to follow.

August turned away, hand in hand with one of their siblings.

To be called the sun, was a blessing, they suppose. The sun gave life to the word, a guiding light during the day for all those who are lost. Light was a sign of safety, a lit lantern in a quiet village.

August was often seen trying to "bring new life" to the world. They were a gardener, after all. Side by side with March, they would help their siblings settle down. Hands buried themself into hard soil and upturned it. Crops were more of March's thing, but August grew flowers of bright colors. They plucked medicinal wildflowers and weeds, recycling it to help already existing life prosper.

Once upon a time, someone called them the Sun. It was snowing, and September was doing something he shouldn't have again. But he dragged them out to the outskirts of the town they were camping near, grinning as they pointed at a paper on the bulletin board.

It wasn't a wanted poster, but more of a warning. A warning of someone people have been calling "The Sun." Really, it was more of a legend.

Someone, a goat, with a cheery personality will come and ask for residence. Say yes, and they'll enter with a flourish of a bright yellow capelet. When they leave, you'd find that their hands were stained in dirt. After a few days, there will be sprouts around your home, and soon some variety of a yellow flower. Most commonly a Sunflower.

Say no, and their face will fall. They'll leave, walking away and the look on their face sends a shiver down your spine, as if the sun left the world cold. Your family will see you sick, skin and eyes turning yellow as you succumb to a sickness. The local doctor will find that you have been poisoned, digitalism.

The two siblings laughed together at the prospect of the goat becoming an urban legend. Named after a celestial body who gave life and can quickly take it away with a single solar flare.

Once upon a time, someone called them the Sun. The world was dark, it was night. Screams fueled the air as the old ruler fell from their throne, wine bearing an odd taste. One by one, more high ranking officials fell.

Someone looked over at the goat, who's smile was too wide and showed too many teeth. And called them the Sun, a name they gained during their life on the road. And August laughed.

August laughed like they were the greatest. Something that dominated the sky. Their light killed their enemies like how too much sun will burn a too willing plant. Concentrate the light, and you can set ants on fire.

Too much exposure, seemed to be one's downfall. But their siblings were prepared, they knew how to deal with their beloved sibling. Like how November carries around an umbrella to stay out of the light. She was always fragile, in a way.

The corpses were burned, not even buried. A great bonfire in the middle of the city, people watching flesh burn off of bone. The orange light reflected in their mask, making their eyes visible as they burned with reflected fire.

The world was ablaze, as the Sun took over with the promise of a new life, of prosperity. People's ideas were uprooted and burned away before turning cold.

Too much of a good thing was bad, and August was the best thing that had ever happened to that kingdom.

Once upon a time, a newly renamed kingdom was covered in the color yellow. Yellow roses lined the porches, yellow flags were strung up, and everyone wore the bright color to a festival. They all laughed giddily as the band strung up, music wafting through the town square as they danced. They all seemed to have forgotten the way the Sun usurped the old leader.

August watched happily. They were a beacon to this place, and everyone was in their light. Sunflowers quickly sprung up around the kingdom, and became a symbol.

Until the goat one day opened their eyes, but their eyes didn't open.

Once upon a dream, someone called them the Sun. A voice that echoed in their head. A watching eye of a soon to be exiled god.

They saw Morning Glory vines twisting around their body, Petunias sprouting beneath their feet. Foxglove pollen made them sneeze and irritated their eyes (despite the fact that they were never sensitive to it before) as the vines choked the life out of them.

Air left their lungs and couldn't return. Blood was cut off from their head. Life was fading. The Sun was dying.

Then they woke up.

The kingdom that flourished under their rule for many years, generations even, was agitated. Their ruler cut down every creeping vine that came close to the palace. Magic users came from far and wide as the goat was thrown into a panic. This wasn't supposed to happen.

To the people, their painted smile was warm as they assured them that nothing bad would happen. But the air was cold, something will happen. Their ruler was too tense.

They wouldn't be able to handle this. One day it will be too much and they will explode, taking life with them. Their siblings had already endured a loss, and another may even shatter their family all together. The kingdom will collapse without a ruler, and people will swarm to take their place. People will die, their people going cold in the winter. They can't let that happen.

Once upon a time, something called them the Sun. A stone engraved, erected from the dirt. Petunias and digitalis surrounded it, Morning Glories slowly but surely reclaiming the stone into the earth.