The Garden Man and Other Short Stories

The Garden Man

There is a garden, where you dig until your hands are raw and bleeding. You were someone once, outside of this garden but now you're digging. You keep digging as the sun sets and stars arrive. These aren't your stars though. Not as you remember them. Either way, you keep digging. It isn't worth worrying about. You have to keep digging. You don't know why what's so important below the garden. But you're digging anyway.

Eventually, a man appears. He's old. Something tells you, older than he appears. He sits on the garden wall to your left, and he smiles at you. It's a sad smile, one, you imagine, he doesn't particularly like to smile. He hops down after a while, once you've looked away and dig again. He walks to you, though you still don't look. And he offers you his hand, the digging doesn't seem so important anymore. You stop and look at him, and he's still smiling that sad not smile. And you see pity in grey-blue eyes. The shovel clatter into the soil at your feet, and you realize all of your digging hasn't done anything. There are piles of dirt surrounding you, some coming to stand higher than you but there is no hole. Tears rush to your eyes and spill down your cheeks, you need something down there, though you have no idea what.

As tears run down your cheeks, you take the old man's hand and the garden disappears. You have a moment of clarity that leaves you standing alone in a white room staring down at your bleeding fists. And then you fall. It's not the impact that kills you. You're dead before you hit the floor.

When you wake up, you're in a garden and a shovel leans against the mossy cobble wall. It's covered in dirt, though there's no disturbance to the garden around it. You sigh to yourself as you go to pick it up. There's something important here, something you need. You begin to dig.

You dig until your hands are raw and bleeding. You were someone once, outside of this garden but now you're digging. You keep digging as the sun sets and stars arrive. These aren't your stars though. Not as you remember them. Either way, you keep digging. It isn't worth worrying about. You have to keep digging. You don't know why what's so important below the garden. But you're digging anyway.

Tears start to snake their way down your cheeks, and you pause to wipe at them. Dirt and blood from your hands smear onto your face along with the salty water, but you have a feeling you'll never see your face again to be bothered by it.

You resume your digging and after a long while, you find a rhythm to it. Stacks of the soil pile up around you, but you don't mind. It reminds you of something a long time ago. Now blood seeps into the wooden handle of the shovel, and you're fairly certain you're missing a nail or two. It doesn't matter though. There's something here you need and it's here, you cant feel it. You don't stop to wipe the tears now, even though they stream down your face, and you feel hopeless.

Eventually, a man appears. He's old. Something tells you, older than he appears. He sits on the garden wall to your left, and he smiles at you. It's a sad smile, one, you imagine, he doesn't particularly like to smile. He hops down after a while, once you've looked away and dig again. He walks to you, though you still don't look. And he offers you his hand, but you still keep digging. This is important. He seems to realize that you won't take his hand, so he retreats. He holds his hands close to his chest, in an almost defensive position. You glance at him as he squirms. Your shovel clatters to the ground at your feet. You look down at it and you see where there should be a hole nothing. You sigh as your tears splash onto the perfectly flat earth in front of you.

You steel yourself and offer him your hand instead. He smiles that sad smile again, and you see understanding in his eyes. As the tears stop you take the old man's hand and the garden disappears. You have a moment of clarity that leaves you standing alone in a white room staring down at your bleeding fists. And then you fall. It's not the impact that kills you. You're dead before you hit the floor.