Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

The day was cold, the air nipping at Gaz’s skin, even with the windows in his bedroom fully closed. He’d never really gotten used to the ancient manor he was now residing in, the walls made of dark wood and the floor or glazed wood tiles. The space had years worth of dust, even with daily cleaning from the servants.

Gaz was rather confused as to why he was being treated so nicely, he could handle himself. Yet, his maid, so to say, still insisted on bringing him morning porridge and supper, all in his room. He was grateful, thanking the poor little Yorkshire girl every time.

His ‘maid’ was a pretty woman, skin pale as orchids but her hair was lively, always in a new hairstyle everyday. Her hair was a beautiful mix of ginger and brunette, and was whispy and looked extremely soft. Her name was Martha, and her accent was never too rough or hard to understand, it was soft and sweet. Gaz was grateful for Martha, serving some grown man when she was just barely 20.

Gaz could often hear the weeping and cries of someone and pain, ever since he arrived. But, he couldn’t investigate because he had to go outside. If not, who knows what would happen. The warmpth of the scars around his neck comforted him as he put a simple beanie and jacket on. It was at least 30 degrees (-1 Celsius), yet there was almost no snow at all.

The gravel as he stepped outside crunched against his feet, his steps fast and precise as he explored the mazes and twisters found outside. Most of the time, it was simple open-field, not too much to do besides find cool rocks and breathe in fresh air. That was until he noticed a decently large patio with stone walls and beige gravel on the ground.

Occasional puddles of snow were around the patio-area, an unvacant wheelbarrow was there too, with a kind old man next to it, clipping tangled vines with shears. “Excuse me, sir,” Gaz started, cautiously approaching the old man in case he was hard of hearing. “is there anything to actually do around here?” Gaz asked, trying not to petty or mean towards the old soul.

“oh, yes..” the old man replied, his previous task almost completely forgotten. “there’s plenty of stuff.” his voice was like honey mixed with the clink of an acorn on the rooftop of a car. Something caught Gaz’s eye, though. Walls completely smothered in vines, top to bottom and left to right. Even the floor was filled with overgrown weeds and grass. “what’s over there?”

“oh, sonny, nobody is allowed to go over there.” the old man replied, snipping one last vine and putting it in the wheelbarrow. “you go in and you’d be in hordes of trouble, young man.” the old man said before slowly walking off with a limp, wheeling the wheelbarrow to a different stone wall. But, Gaz was certain to find out what’s bin the overgrown passageway.

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The next day was even colder, yet the patio area was empty. Gaz sneaked over to the overgrown hallway, careful that his boots didn’t make too loud of a sound against the gravel. The dried out grass beneath his feet crunched and crackled with each step he took. The walls slapped him in the face with vines, and he felt along the walls just in case.

The felt a sudden change of texture, from stone to polished wood. Gaz began to rip the vines from their original places, revealing a small wooden door just tall enough to fit him. It seemed glued shut, and wouldn’t budge from all his pushing and pulling. The old door creaked and groaned from all his relentless pushing, the rusty hinges growing weak.

The door finally opened with a thud, the force enough to push it to hit the stone wall loudly. Gas could hear birds scatter in the background, startled by the loud noise as he stepped inside, and made sure to close the door behind him as to not get caught. What he found was beautiful.

The garden he entered was baring, full of browns and dark greens, most of the plants had lost their flowers and leaved due to the season of winter. Yet, as he traveled though the paved dirt road, he noticed a glimpse of color, small yet it was hope to him that this garden was worth breaking into. As he stepped closer, his boots seemingly getting louder against the dirt, he saw the main viewpoint.

A statue, seemingly made of a mix or granite, stone, and marble to create various ‘colors’. The statue was of a person, extremely detailed— like a greek statue. Well, they were clothed at least, if he could even call is clothes. The plants around the statue were a nice bright green, full of life, yet still no color. But, the plants were alive, but only in this specific spot.

“Hello?” he felt stupid for saying it, talking to some statue made of stone. he still looked over the plants, wondering how they were living, but only in this spot. “you the keeper of this garden?” he asked again, once again ridiculing himself for talking to himself.