gardens in autumn | {hailsham} blitz

darling, not gonna brainstorm
vain wrong ways to harm him
because I don't believe in retribution

There, in the center of a cruel place, was a garden. Like most things within the Institute, it was enviable in the spring, with lush daylillies and plump clusters of bottle brush. There stood a tall oak, the branches of which were worn heavy with mosses, the trunk adorned with primrose and morning glory. The petals colored in the most vibrant reds, the deepest shades of blues and everything in between, as if an artist had spent months painting a detailed portrait and then watched as it came to life before his very eyes. This place offered peace to the waning young souls living within those stone walls and iron gates. There was almost a sense of holiness in its quiet, lovely existence.

Wade preferred this single acre or two of the institution more than just about any other destination on the islet. The dining hall was always too crowded and loud; his private quarters were too much the opposite. The courtyard was nice enough on the cooler days of the year when the concrete wasn't hot enough to cook a person, should they stand still long enough.

But he preferred the garden in the colder months, crazy as it sounded. When the colors were fading and the night lingered a bit longer and winter made a promise of destruction to all things living. All things too weak to survive. But that was just it: even in the coldest winter, the driest fall, these flowers always came back in the spring. Each set of roots grounded proof of rebirth and healing; if silly little flowers could survive winter, Wade could survive this.

He sat at one of the wooden picnic tables that had been arranged special for the morning's meetings, which were usually held in the dining hall. A small platform had been erected at the base of the old oak; Mother would climb onto it any second and remind them of the upcoming reaping, and how none of their ideas of running away or asking for help would work.

"She's late," Wade said, his eyes flicking down at his watch, "That's... unlike her."

working against you
somewhere down in the future
oh surely, we go on
the plausible thing to do here

song: lullaby