The Garden


“Scared, Ronnie?” The elder girl called out, standing before a stone arched gate, rumoured to be the entrance to a witch’s lair.

“I’m not scared,” her brother mumbled indignantly, entering after her.

It was cold and dark, thin shafts of light streaming through tiny cracks. A stone gargoyle stood in the middle of the huge, dusty, puddle filled grotto.

Romila huffed, “This place ain’t no lair, it’s a goddamn swamp!” Feeling disappointed, she stomped away, calling out to Ronnie. “Come along!”

But Ronnie looked around, curious.

“What do you see?”

Ronnie glanced around the empty cavern. “Wh-who is i-it?”

“Open your mind, sweet cherub,” the voice replied gently. “Can you see?”
It was the statue.

The transformation was phenomenal. “The garden!”
Just like he’d imagined. Sunlight, colourful flowers and swings.

“Beauty lies behind a faΓ§ade, uncovered by only those true in spirit.” The disembodied voice faded, as Ronnie began to play.

Written for MLMM’s Tale Weaver- The Witches Garden and Crispina’s Crimson Creative Challenge #101, where we have to write a creative piece in 150 words or less on the picture prompt.

Other prompts: #RDP– Swamp; #3TC– Cherub & True; Word of the Day– Gargoyle

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