Circle (standard:fantasy, 638 words)
Author: Manwe	Added: Feb 19 2002	Views/Reads: 3324/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The story is about life itself

Circle 

His cheeks were wet, and now that he thought about it, so were his eyes.
Must have been a bug or something. There were lots of bugs this time of 
year. 

He looked out over the old garden. It seemed so big, a grassy green hill
sloping down into what seemed to be a forest without end. Grandmother 
had worked for years to get the sides of the hill filled with flowers. 
Now it looked like a true festival of color. Red hyacinths mixing with 
yellow tulips, a group of white-as-milk daisies circled by purple 
violets and, most important of all, dozens of blossoming red roses 
leading the way to her life’s work; an immense field of forget-me-nots. 
He felt like he could lie around here all day. 

Grandma was sitting on the porch, a basket with sandwiches neatly placed
on her lap. She beckoned him, asking if he wanted one. He declined, he 
didn’t feel hungry; also the ball slowly rolling down the hill looked 
much more appealing than a cheese-sandwich. 

On his way down, he noticed a small white-bellied bunny-family playing
around among the daisies. Apparently, the animals had discovered him as 
well and decided to run for the forest. Playing with his ball he 
couldn’t help feeling anxious to follow them a bit, see where they 
lived and all. 

It was a small hole, neatly dug between the roots of an old tree. The
entrance was clad in a cloak of moss, glittering with the dew of 
morning. A young bunny stuck its head out, as if confronting him; he 
smiled at it as it slowly retreated back to safety. 

As he looked upwards, his eyes met with the old giant’s ancient trunk.
Its brown skin had been marked by the years; little holes where drilled 
in its old wood, signalling that a woodpecker had settled here, a small 
squirrel climbed toward its home as a mockingbird quietly cleaned its 
feathers. On one of the branches sat a young woman, her white veil 
silently waving in the wind. 

He walked around the tree to join her. Slowly he removed the veil,
allowing the afternoon breeze to take it away, plucked a rose and, 
gently stroking her hair, stuck it next to her ear. He caught himself 
staring at her eyes. They were so deep; an ocean would pale in 
comparison. She smiled as she carefully let herself slide from the 
branch, turned towards him once more to kiss him goodbye and left for 
the mansion. He slid off and turned his head towards the setting sun. 

Slowly he closed his eyes, the wind caressing his face. As he opened
them again, the tree was gone, a tree-stump with an ink-black raven on 
it in its place. As he walked back he couldn’t help but notice the 
garden looking different, the plants seemed weary under the weight of 
the overwhelming amount of rain piled up on their withered flowers. The 
red roses were replaced by a dark crimson kind. An old grey rabbit was 
lying on its side in the field of forget-me-nots, flies feeding off its 
lifeless body. The ball in his hands was dirty, a remainder of stale 
air leaking out of it like a final breath. 

At the mansion a small boy was playing with a ball, a woman clad in a
clear white dress carefully watching over him. As a rabbit fled his 
sight, his wife came out with a plate of sandwiches. “You want a 
sandwich honey? I made them myself.” A tear slowly rolled over his 
wrinkled cheek as he walked toward his chair. A mockingbird flew by, 
chasing a woodpecker so it seemed. His eyes followed them to an old 
tree, an ancient tree actually, on its highest branch, a white veil 
silently waving in the wind. 

END 


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