The Garden of Hope

Windows the size of doors still were not enough for people to succumb to the power of sight. The guests here only care about one thing: themselves. They may not all realize, but they have a whole in the depths of thier soul just begging to be filled with satisfaction. I do not know what there is about this place that people like so much since I can only see through the windows that surround me, showing me either pulled curtains displaying a lovely room, or plain darkness when night comes to steal the power of sight from everyone.

I am surrounded by the building's four gray brick walls. Far above me is a blue and sometimes black sheet of color that changes over the course of the day. Every once in a while, white, disjointed orbs stare back at me, simply ready to float away to take on its next shape. Below me is dirt and whatever secrets the earth's crust hides. But what makes where I am so special is who I am with. Color is a magnificent gift. I happen to be all around it. Mainly green is what's normal here, but I do see small glimpses of pink, blue, yellow, red, and many others.

Everything depends on me because of my shade. I depend on them to make this garden happy and beautiful. I have been here for what seems like an eternity, longer than anyone else. This garden may be small, but within it lies a treasure that no one around is will be able to find unless they turn from thier evil ways and not look, but see something other than themselves and what they want: Hope. I see smiles everyday, yet they look fake, incomplete, and vague. Hope is missing in thier lives. The flames of Desire have been extinguished by selfishness. In this garden, everyone helps one another, even if we cannot move. Even if we cannot speak. Even if we cannot have freedom. But Hope allows us to communicate somehow. It gives us this want from deep within us.

If only one person can look through a piece of crystal clear glass, maybe thier vacation could be even better, prettier, and happier. But if there is one thing that this garden and the people that I watch everyday in thier rooms, it's that we all have the branches of dissatisfaction choking and scraping us. It is one thing to be trapped, but another to have too much freedom. Hope is balance. That's why this garden has survived for so many years. New organisms come and go, but I am the only original thing that remains.

After years of seeing, watching, and being curious about another form of life behind those windows, another thought came to me. Every room closest to the ground have gray stairs leading to this place. They do not even have to see. Just thier presence is enough for me and everyone else hear. But as always, no one sees, but looks. No one walks, but wonders. I have hope that one day, something can change. I have this desire passionate enough to burn through my bark of seeing something other than gray brick walls and people not paying any attention to what lies right in front of them. But the gift of sound is also so precious. It can change emotions and it contains the power to change people. I have seen it before. And one day, it changed me and this garden I grew up in.

Someone saw the Garden of Hope. Not just by looking through the window, but by seeing within it. They saw the treasure. It was so easy find all along. With that treasure buried in thier hearts now, I realized that Hope can be used for both good and bad.
One day, I saw that person use the gray steps and walk toward me with tears in her eyes. She was dresses deferently than everyone else. She looked quite formal and had a piece of paper in her hands. As she began writing on it, another person came from the same set of gray steps from the same room and smiled as he held a silver blade. The sound was a cocophony of high pitched squeals of terror. I saw a whole group of people that can from the steps and were now in the garden. They began to destroy the colors, and every form of life in the gardens with various objects. But lastly, in the center of the garden, was me. I realized what the metal blade was for. They used my hope to create something of thier own. I do not know what it was that they wanted to make with this space. I may not be able to move, but I am not defenseless. You see, people can steal all you have left, but the one thing they can never take away is who you are. I used the very last piece of hope that I had left, and simply ignited it within my heart. Every branch, leaf, and root shook in fear and hoped that the metal blade that had now touched my bark wouldn't hurt me. To everyone else, I am just an averge tree.