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Last Chance Idol Week One

It had become too wild.

The vines and bushes I’d planted to keep my garden safe became unruly; thorns and brambles would prick and pierce the skin of those trying to enter to nurture the tender young plants beyond their green grasp. I’d let them grow tall, strong and unyielding, feeding them on paranoia and guilt.

I was safe from anyone trying to get in, but I’d trapped myself inside. The jungle that enclosed me grew and grew until it choked out the light and my garden and I began to die.

It was a slow realization. At first I enjoyed the refreshing shade and security the garden walls had provided me.  I could tend to the roses that bloomed in vibrant colors in safety. I didn’t notice the colors beginning to darken and fade as the sun was hidden. I didn’t see the seeds I planted withering as they were starved for light. I did not know, until it was black and I was alone.

I ran to the thicket of wild branches, tugging at them bare handed, trying to break free, to feel warmth on my skin again. I succeeded only in bloodying my hands, and so I lay down and wept.

And wept.

And wept.

My husband, confident and jovial, offered me a ladder so I could climb over the verdant wall. But I could not see beyond the vines, so I refused, afraid to leave the garden.

My mother, strong and graceful, offered me gloves and pruning shears in order to clip my way free of my imprisonment. But the walls seemed so vast; I didn’t know where to start.

My child, gentle and calm, lay down opposite the wall and whispered to me words of love and compassion, her voice finding small holes in the defenses I’d grown. She reached her hand to mine through a gap and grasped my hand, passing me a small lit candle to combat the growing darkness.

And in the light of her small candle, I found the handle of an axe.

I hefted it, feeling its sturdy weight in my hand and began to work, chopping my way through years of guilt surrounding abuse, rape, and more, until I’d cut a mighty hole in the brambles, and could feel the sun on my face, and my roses had the first hints of color again.

I have plenty more work to do to chop the rest of these walls down, but I’m ready to feed the garden again.


( 16 comments — Leave a comment )
Sep. 30th, 2014 12:15 am (UTC)
From one survivor to another - *hugs*

Great metaphor.
Sep. 30th, 2014 07:32 am (UTC)
powerful stuff here.
Reminds me a bit of some of McKinley's work.

typo-hunt, if you want it: "My child, gentle and cam," did you want "calm" there?

also, HUG.
Sep. 30th, 2014 04:49 pm (UTC)
Thank you!
Sep. 30th, 2014 01:37 pm (UTC)
Nice imagery.
Sep. 30th, 2014 05:52 pm (UTC)
Quite good imagery. Very nice.
Sep. 30th, 2014 09:04 pm (UTC)
*hugs* Beautiful.
Sep. 30th, 2014 11:55 pm (UTC)
Very thoughtful. You have actually managed to put a hopeful spin on depression.
Oct. 2nd, 2014 08:30 pm (UTC)
Thank you.
Oct. 1st, 2014 02:27 am (UTC)
I don't even know what to say about this one. It's wonderful.
Oct. 2nd, 2014 08:30 pm (UTC)
You're too kind!!
Oct. 1st, 2014 11:15 am (UTC)
One of my favorite things you have written, for sure. I have been there, too.
Oct. 1st, 2014 06:41 pm (UTC)
Very beautiful imagery, especially of those who are helping you.
Oct. 2nd, 2014 12:00 am (UTC)
The imagery in this is wonderful—it's a great metaphor.
Oct. 2nd, 2014 03:06 pm (UTC)
Really good imagery and a wonderful piece of writing.
Oct. 3rd, 2014 12:05 am (UTC)
Oct. 3rd, 2014 12:19 am (UTC)
This reminds me of Sleeping Beauty, so I particularly like the idea of using an axe to chop your way out.
( 16 comments — Leave a comment )


Light in the Darkness
My heart was broken open over and over and over again... and it just kept getting bigger.

It's time to either grow up, or disintegrate.

'What makes the desert beautiful,' said the little prince, 'is that it hides a well somewhere.'

To write love on her arms

You risk tears if you let yourself be tamed.

I want to do to you what spring does with the cherry trees.

The books that help you most are those which make you think that most. The hardest way of learning is that of easy reading; but a great book that comes from a great thinker is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth and beauty.

To whatever end.

I would not deny you, but by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion, and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.

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