Alice VS. Wonderland

I always find myself next to the only tree in the garden, the Weeping Willow. I could never find myself not inching closer and closer to the tree, scoping the life around it. The birds seem to be just like me, curious as to find something abnormal. Searching for some point of interest in the garden, wondering if something could please my curiosity.

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1. Enticing Gardens

The blue roses were always in bloom, nothing could stop them from multiplying to every inch of the garden. I could never figure out why they were here. Nobody planted them, nobody watered them, but they survived nonetheless. It intrigues me when I see more of them starting to grow, they took care of themselves, just like me. 

I always find myself next to the only tree in the garden, the Weeping Willow. I could never find myself not inching closer and closer to the tree, scoping the life around it. The birds seem to be just like me, curious as to find something abnormal. Searching for my point of interest in the garden, wondering if something could please my curiosity. 

Although, your luck is in finding me in the garden, I also shut myself from the outside world. My room is a gloomy, eye-catching place. It is hard to find me there, but it is possible, after all, everyone needs a break from something. My something is the garden. 

Eventfully, I catch myself heading towards the garden, for that little hope for abnormality I'm yearning for. Just searching for it is a long, heartbreaking process, that turns hope to disappointment.

It is, in fact, scarce to ever find anything peculiar lurking in the garden, but my hope stays. I wait for the day that one thing I need, I hope, will come and find its way to me, waiting for me to scoop it up and take my hopes along with it. 

Indeed I found myself in the rose filled garden. I couldn't help it, it closes me in, and, after all, brings me to it. And yet, I enjoy it, I love it, I need it. It keeps it's promise to me, to heighten my curiosity.

I brought myself to the thickness of the tree, looking through the tiny hole a bird had pecked into it. The hole was normal, nothing another bird wouldn't do to amuse itself. 

I walked along the edge of the garden, looking through the gate father had put up years ago. The gate had roses tightening around the bars, holding for life onto the ground. 

I plucked a rose from a stem.

The color, so unique, so pure, it had no purpose in our garden. The thorns were in perfect position, not one out of place. Perfectly imperfect, just like me.

Boredom never ceases to stay by my side, just like curiosity, they are both linked, a chain reaction, one after another they come, they go. 

The Weeping Willow makes the garden alive, soothing the other mixes of plants. The only other plants we had in the garden were white and red roses. Both a perfect combination of opposites. Holding their place in the world, while the blue rose stands alone. 

I trudge towards the tree, hoping for a change for the blue rose. The blue rose must have a perfect combination, or a perfect opposite somewhere. I place the blue rose aside in the hole near the middle of the tree. I lean against the wood of the tree, pulling of a leafy string. I hold the long strand of bark in both my hands, it still touches the ground anyway. 

Suddenly, a loud screech comes from the south end of the garden. Catching my attention, I walk towards it. 

The world grows smaller as I get dragged into a hole, all I'm left with is the images of the blue, white, and red roses. 

 

 

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