In The Dawn Garden

Chapter 3

He passed through the gates, their black enamel glinting in the scattered sunlight that permeated through the tall elms. At once the sounds of the outside world were drowned out, replaced by the gentle soughing of countless branches and lilted birdsong.

He slowly, mechanically made his way through the scattered light, to the dark cove where he had secreted the rope that gloomy night. It was still there. Pulling it out, he looked up to see where he could hang it.

All around him cypresses and mountain ashes rose to thunderous heights, swaying ever so slightly in the wind, framing the turquoise sky with their grand branches. Below them, elms and jacarandas jostled for sunlight, samaras and blossoms splashing the understorey in alternating bursts of lime green and mauve. In the undergrowth shrubs crowded together like vegetable sheep, all but obscuring the trunks of the trees. Red and yellow-throated wattlebirds flitted in the trees, darting to catch insects in mid-air.

Flecks of light filtered down from the canopy, picking out blooms slowly unfurling in the soft dawn light, illuminating them in radiant shades of pink, white and yellow. Droplets of dew glistened like rhinestones. Small finches darted through the brush, chirping brightly, their bright feathers streaks of colour. Pollen and flower petals all but obscured the asphalt path, crunching and squishing under his feet. Elegant creepers of jasmine and huge crimson damask roses pervaded the air with their exotic, opaque scent.

The tall trees parted for a moment to reveal a small brook, bubbling as it ran between moss-lined buttresses, cascading into a small lake. Brown tadpoles swam in the clear water, darting under healthy verdant mats of salvinia and watercress. Water skaters and backswimmers rippled the gleaming surface.

His eyes followed the course of the stream to the lake. Lily pads dotted the silver surface of the water, their delicate pink and purple blooms slowly unfolding. Teals and moorhens scooted slowly along, rippling the mirrored images of the trees.

At that moment he felt the resolve to end it all drain out of him, as if someone had yanked a plug somewhere deep inside him. He felt a feeling of lightness course through him, as if someone had lifted a great weight off his shoulders.

He grabbed the rope and he flung it into the lake. He watched as it splashed loudly, and slowly sank into the murky depths.

All of a sudden a wave of rage swept through him, as if a swarm of wasps had been released within. The veins on his temples swelled. Grotesque, macabre scenes of blood and gore and murderous vengeful fantasies of torture and humiliation played out in his head.

Then the wasps disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared. He was shuddering. His palms were bone-white where his nails had dug in. He breathed in deeply.

A plan was already forming in his mind.