SHORT STORIES{collection]

THE BELLADONNA..........

A lonely garden sat underneath a pale, wintry sky. Flowers of every kind rested mournfully in their hearths, their small, decadent blossoms falling away from their once beautiful frames. Bright, crimson thorns caressed their feeble stems, and tiny dew droplets gracelessly cascaded from their leaves. Twisted oaks gave no reprieve to the buds, as the trunks and vines taunted them cruelly. All the while, darkness stroked the scenery, lulling the flowers away from life, away from reality, and toward desperate dreams not even the trees themselves knew.

Deep within the garden stood a castle. Gothic arches gazed out at the maddening scene, and tall towers soared through the trees, willing themselves from the foreboding atmosphere. Stained glass windows revealed little of the mysterious home, with only grotesque depictions of elegant savagery to splay themselves across the surfaces. Iron gates guarded the castle, the gleaming metal cruelly staring down at the gardens. Grey stone complemented the low light hidden behind velvet curtains. Just beyond those curtains were two hazy silhouettes, both of whom seemed oblivious to the misery outside.

Small, fragile insects kept stumbling around, endeavoring to remain quiet along the edges of the shadows. Soundless cries echoed through the solitary air, as they sought out a warmth that had long since been barred from them. Some insects lay within the cracks in the stone, trying to take shelter from the harsh wind. Others, however, clawed at the walls, their tear-streaked cheeks frozen on their faces. Some circled the towers, leaping from balcony to balcony, while others sank low in the mud, the life within their already dull eyes gradually disappearing. Some sat at the front of the doors, pleading that they be let inside, while others attempted to break the windows, bleeding recklessly as they did.

What was it? the insects asked themselves. What had they done to upset their lord? What did they do to deserve such callousness? Was this a punishment, a consequence, a lesson from a terrible time no one dared remember? If it was, then shouldn't the master be blamed for it?

The master.

The mistress.

As quickly as the accusation came, it left, replaced by a fear the insects have beaten into themselves. Was the master listening? Where was he? What was he doing now?

But even so, the judgement remained in their minds. What did they do that was so horrifying? What did they say that was so terrible, so sinful? What was it?

What was it?

Then they all froze.

They came toward the insects, the monsters, their glassy eyes taking in the garden's shamefulness. Some were big, others small, some hideous, others beautiful. Some had claws, others hands; some hearts, others a mere hole. Some were bleeding when they came, while others held no such conviction, and instead, practiced their inhumanity by their own, sadistic right.

As the monsters came forth, any pride the insects had left shattered. Horrified screams broke the silence, replacing the wind in all its entirety. The insects began slamming against the doors, the gates, the windows. Frightened, cold hands beat against the stone, their piercing howls drenched in pity. Desperation filled their eyes, as they begged, pleaded, screamed, demanded that they be let in.

The master.

The mistress.

What sin was this? Whose sin was this? Apologize! Say sorry and they may still escape this fate! Apologize! they all cried. Apologize! Apologize apologize apologize apologize!

Whose sin was this?

The master.

Whose sin was this?!