It was small. It wasn’t much more than a small room’s worth, but it was the world to three people—people you’d never expect to be interconnected somehow. But they were. The Grove was how they came to be, how they came to see each other, something that would probably never have happened. ---

The grove led in silvery light slanting through branches, spilling on the light green grass. Vines crawled themselves up oak trees that circled around the flower-dotted Grove. Birds chirped cheerily from the perches high above the world, in the tree with apples dangling from its outstretched branches. A stream trickled nearby and the sound barely made its way towards your ears, muffled and beautiful.--- It enveloped you in a serene state of mind, where you could just sit there and stare off, smiling all the while.

They were connected. Kent Janz, Noelle Belline, Stuart Kincannon, and Lisa Sthomas were all connected to the Grove. It was what brought upon several extraordinary events. ---

Kent Janz’s cottage was up the hill, rolling upwards from the Grove’s atmosphere. Up on the hilltop, you could hardly tell that something as beautiful as the Grove was below. It was cold and frigid most of the time from the unnaturally chilling wind that spluttered upon the weak cottage and the always-traffic road was settled right in view from the backyard. ---The backyard might have been slightly attractive if it were not for the road, with the sloping hill going downwards, the grass sometimes interrupted by a flower or two. The bottom met the forest and that was when beauty and life began.

Kent was an awkward boy, aged eleven. He was sent to the grove by what they later referred to as “Angel.” ---

It was one extraordinarily cold day, somewhere smack-dab in the middle of December.

“Get some firewood, Kent,” demanded a weak voice from somewhere on the other, more shadowy, side of the two-room cottage. ---

“Why, Mama? Papa’s not sick, he can get it,” muttered Kent, fidgeting with the pencil in his hands. He was racking his brain for a sentence to finish up his school assignment, write about “Your Favorite Place.”

“Papa’s tired. He’s napping. Get the firewood, Kent, or else we’ll all freeze. Now go, before it starts snowing or something!” cried Mama. She was oftentimes ticked off at what seemed like nothing but it was only because of the baby coming.--- The baby made her moody and sick most of the time.

“Fine,” shrugged Kent, getting up half-reluctantly but half-quickly also. Mama wasn’t one to be messed with considering her bulging belly. He rolled his eyes nonchalantly as he made his way out the door, shoving on a puffy coat on his way out. ---

Kent’s knees and elbows bent in awkward ways and his walking was like that of a duck’s. It was a birth defect, something he had grown to know—and maybe not love, but not exactly care about. He didn’t have schooling so he didn’t have to bother with smirks and taunts from schoolchildren.--- He had to just deal with his father’s mumbled insults of, “Walk normal, boy, it bugs me” or “Messed-up child” or even “Cripple.” But most of the time, that didn’t annoy Kent anymore. He’d learned to deal with it and move on.

He made his way into the blistering cold and frowned. His lips tightened as if attempting to sent warmth towards each other and he cracked his knuckles, a bad habit he had. ---Snowflakes began to lazily flutter towards the grass’s icy crust.

“Let it snow,” he sighed, “how much worse could it get?”

Grey clouds took up room in the sky and hail began to accompany the snow. Kent just groaned and moved down the hill. He grudgingly grabbed some firewood and shoved it under his numb arm, grumbling the whole time. --- He usually wasn’t disagreeable, but when weather like this pelted the earth and he had to be in the midst of it, he was annoyed.

“Couldn’t you give me a break?” he asked the sky rudely and then turned back to his feet, watching the pathway he made through the already-piling snow. The snow was certainly coming down now; spiraling down in swirling bunches in almost a magical way. ---Once he was inside and the fire was roaring, he might enjoy the weather. Suddenly, something caught his eye. Under the snow, a spot of green. He turned his head slowly, staring wide-eyed. There was no doubt in the world—there was a sea of green from the forest. It shone like the sun. ---

He dropped the firewood and before he knew it, his feet were making furious footsteps in the snow. His knees twitched and his elbows hurled this way and that but his mind was focused on one thing—the green. Kent stopped, panting, in front of it. It was of a magical feeling and he couldn’t help but stare, open-jawed. ---Disbelief shook him, or maybe it was the icy chilliness, but either way, it made him think. Why was the green here? Was the climate somehow warmer? But why were the trees covered with snow?

He let himself wander past his warning-zone, by the Old Oak that had always been the “Stop” signal for him. ---Kent’s eyes left a burning, amazed trail behind him. He felt a pang of amazement and fell to his knees. The grass was warm he noticed. That was all it took to make him stand, stock-still, wondering.

He couldn’t believe it. He was finally going insane, after all the years of reassurance that he was insane. But whether it was a dream or not, he sat down and the warmth felt real. This grass felt real. ---

Maybe…just maybe…it was..

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