The Gardener's Son

The thunder shattered the clouds. The rain hurdled to the ground. Street pockets were lined with those stranded, waiting for the weather to ease.

The noises thrashed inside of her as she walked calmly through the street. As she edged closer to the church doors, she stared up. The length of the doors loomed above her. She was unsure what entrance to use, which doors were designated to nonbelievers, those without faith, who only showed up as a last resort? She decided to go around back.

She slipped inside and immediately noticed the blood-red carpets extending from every corner. She felt uneasy as she edged her way towards the pews, she got the sense that she was about to drown in a red sea, never to be heard from again.

The pews were empty except for an elderly woman kneeling at the altar, clutching a rosary in her right hand. She felt the intimacy of the woman's presence circulating the atmosphere, thick with belief and hope.

She felt disgusting, invading this woman's sacred space, especially while she had not an ounce of faith inside of her. 

She sat on the edge of the pew, so close to the aisle that one move would send her swimming through the sea and out through the doors.

She sat nervous, this was her first time here. She kept staring at the woman, wishing that some of her faith would sneak away and sit itself next to her on the edge of that pew.

"You seem lost." A voice from behind her came. The sound of it sent shivers along her spine.

She turned to see that it was a young man, dressed in a black sweater and dark jeans. His hair was dark, and his eyes were a light green. He sat directly behind her, she wondered if, in her state of mental disarray, she had simply not noticed his presence at all.

She turned back in her pew and continued to stare forward, fixated on the elderly woman.

“It’s fascinating the faith that some humans have, even in the wake of great disparity." His voice was filled with a bitter sadness.

"It feels as if I’ve lost my faith." She was unsure of why she was talking to this stranger, but she couldn't stop.

“Everything is falling apart and l keep asking God for help, but it feels pointless” Her voice quieted as the tears forced their way into her eyes. “I feel forsaken, and I’m struggling."

The stranger stood quiet for a moment before he spoke.

"My father was a gardener, when I was younger he would take me with him to work. I used to admire him, the way he brought life into the world. I found it magical how he could turn something empty and devoid of life and breath into it something so beautiful and so full of hope and promise.”

She continued to stare forward, unsure of why he was telling her this, but grateful to not concentrate on her grief for a brief moment.

“As I grew up, I began to resent him and his work. I thought it was beneath me to be involved in such powerless work. Yes, he made things beautiful but they held no power and when I would walk to school and see the children plucking flowers or the adults who did this, destroying his work, the rage in me would rise with such intensity. These feelings only intensified with age and when I became of age to take over the family business, I ran and he never forgave me for that."

He continued calmly. "For a long time, I wandered and my life was in a state of disarray. I took many different forms to find who I truly was, but when I discovered the truth, I realized the only power we have is the power we take.”

His voice was melodic, infiltrating her ears and sinking deep into her mind, she could hear his words running through her insides.

She had never experienced this sensation before, she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

She stared ahead, unsure whether she wanted to continue the conversation, she knew she didn't want him to leave.

She noticed the elderly woman staring at them, her eyes terrifyingly wide, mouth agape, her throat was slashed, blood pooling down her body.

She screamed out and closed her eyes, but when she opened them, the woman was gone.

The stranger continued to speak, unfazed by the scene playing out before them.

"My father used to bring me to church quite frequently when I was younger, he had a sense something was wrong with me way before I ever did, perhaps he thought the light could save me."

She felt the blood drain from her face. How misguided she was.

"Who are you?" She whispered, slowly turning around.