The Gardener

‘Twas dawn.

I left the cold kitchen along with its condensed windows, streaming icy tears into the raised beds outside. They’re not mine, of course!

I felt a drip on my head and moved away from the windows. I saw the birds bobbing their heads up, and down;conversing happily to one another.

As I turned my head away from the stone bath, there rising from his crumbled bed, was an Artichoke. His green veins sizzled with poison, creeping into the grass, flooding my feet. I stood still as he climbed up my blue legs, he shook his head reaching out to me, his eyes piercing into the back of my throat.

Inside me.
I feel the poison seep into my veins, swimming with my body.
Sinking, I scream at him; trying to pull him out of me.
The pain, oh the pain.

Stops.

And like all the children before, I slide into the raised beds and fit back to the hole dug for me.
Silently, the gardener walks back to the house carrying his fertiliser and fork.

Anon.
Year 11

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