The Greyscale Girl and The Garden The Greyscale Girl & The Garden

It is commonplace for tales, especially those of romance, to start with a girl. This is not a story of any such romance, although in fact it does begin with one very significant factor; a girl. It is important to make this distinction clear, to avoid any thoughts of cliché or illusions of grandeur when introducing such a girl as this.

Black and white was she, and every shade of nothingness in between. From the white hair that curled around her hunched shoulders and the monochrome of her eyes, to the toes that were just visible through the holes in her shoes. A shadow of beauty, she sat and clutched at her sole possession; a grey paper bag.

Her home was a cloud; grey like her world as she floated in it. Voices echoed around her, as if it was her to which they were speaking. A voice something like she thought might be her own replied to them, but she cared not. She remained curled up in her cloud, clutching the grey paper bag.

It was a day like any other; the countless days that had come before it and the days ahead that she expected but barely thought of. Days were nothing when there was no sun, no calendar of dates or notion of time. The girl did not sleep, she merely sat, and if there were any colour in her world her eyes would have been so red that it would hurt to gaze upon them. She feared sleep and the thoughts that it brought her. All that could be done was to sit and clasp that bag so tightly, but to never look inside.

On this day, a day that bore no discernible name or distinction, there was a suggestion of something different. It took several moments for her to adjust; looking at nothing for so long required a different state of vision altogether. But slowly her eyes remembered what it was to focus on one thing, and she saw it. The tiniest of holes in the cloud, and through it streamed a light. It was white, but not the same dull shade as her nails or her skin. This was the most brilliant white she could barely have imagined; such a thin ray that penetrated her world like a sword through a magician’s box. And it was such a fear that she felt, that it would touch and harm her or that more would come, and she shuffled backward away from it. Her eyes widened with fear but at the same time her dark pupils widened also, longing to absorb the same radiance that caused her body to tremble.

Time, as immeasurable as it had always been, passed in the cloud and the light remained. No more appeared, and the girl anxiously searched the edges of her dark home, discovering no other holes or cracks. Her breathing slowed as she grew calmer, pushing herself into a corner that offered the simple safety of darkness. She felt a dull ache in her fingers and looked down to find that she was clutching the grey paper bag so tightly that it, or her fingers, might break. She relaxed her grasp and smoothed the crumpled edges carefully, placing the bag in her lap. But her gaze continued to drift towards the pinhole that had allowed such a fearsome yet beautiful thing to enter her world, and turn it so completely upside down.

Slowly, carefully, she found herself edging toward it, as if willed by something that was inside her, but so unlike anything she believed that she could feel. She crouched low, moving to avoid the beam that reached upward from the floor, so that she could get closer to its source. As she approached she blinked and scarce believed her eyes; with each inch she crept forward she thought she saw the hole grow a little wider. Her hesitation was brief, as she moved impulsively again, and this time she saw for sure that the hole was increasing in size. Breath came faster, her heart thumped against her chest, but for all the comfort that the darkness gave her she could not stop her movement towards the light. She shuffled faster, her feet pushing against the misty floor of the world that did not want to let her go. Her palms pushed too, moving her onward as her fingers stretched more towards her destination, as if they themselves had their own separate desire to reach it. Her body filled with purpose and she could almost feel the warmth of the light on her skin, warmth that flowed through her and fuelled her determination. As she reached the source of the wonderful white light, the hole opened up and bathed her in its warm glow until she could see nothing of the cloud that she once called her home. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let herself fall into it like a dream.

If eyes could themselves be satisfied, and if those of the greyscale girl had not been content with the wonder of the light itself, then such a visual feast that surpassed the first in every way was yet to come. As her head cleared she found herself in an alien world. Surrounding her were such vibrant, sprawling masterpieces of colour that they seemed almost to sing to her. Her eyes were forced to adjust once more to the brightness of the landscape in front of her. Her heart embraced these wonders as if for the first time, yet with a sense of reassurance that she had known them once long ago, like long lost friends of another world.

She stumbled to stand, anxious to explore, and noticed something fall from her lap to her feet as she rose. Her heart caught in her throat as she noticed the grey paper bag, lying almost open on the floor. She hurriedly snatched it up, folding the top of the bag tightly and keeping it close to her chest. Her hands, still grey, clasped her arms as she kept them folded. Her small, colourless figure stood a stark contrast to the scene around her. Green grass shimmered like fine blades of emerald, yet soft to the touch. Reaching toward the sky like giants, flowers and trees stood tall and proud like a floral rainbow stretching as far as the eye could see. Deep crimsons and peaceful tones of yellow; shades and swirls of purple that made her feel like she could lose herself in them. And through all the wonders of the garden, the blue sky was still visible above, perfectly clear like a smooth piece of silk stretched over a garden that would be the envy of Eden.

Walking through the garden she felt almost ashamed of her skin; ashamed of her clothes, her hair, and how she did not shine or glow like the wonders around her. A transparent tear slowly made its way down her pale cheek as she let out a small sob. She sank to her knees in the long grass, gazing at the large purple flower in front of her. The petals, shades of violet and turquoise, encompassed a soft golden centre. Their shapes were perfect, as if carefully drawn by the most talented of artists, a hypnotically beautiful sight. The edges were smooth and the petals like velvet to the touch, as her ashen fingers reached out to them tentatively. Her eyes drifted closed against the flow of tears and she clutched the grey paper bag to her chest once more. She heard a low hushing sound, lulling her gently as if from the flower in front of her.

As she sobbed once more in her hunched monochrome form, she felt something soft curl around her shoulders. She took no notice of it at first until she was slowly eased to her feet, opening her eyes. She gasped a little as she saw that the garden had drawn in around her. Every flower, every branch of every tree had come to comfort her. They were close, but just far enough for the sobbing greyscale girl not to be afraid. In truth she welcomed their presence; she cried and cried, more than she had ever cried before. Prior stifled weeping and the occasional tear was all she had allowed herself, but now there came such sweet release as the tears streamed down her face. She had let go.

Slowly she felt a warmth flow through her, as if it were channelled into her veins from the garden itself. She looked down and her crying halted in shock as she sawt her hands. Turning them over again and again she wiggled her fingers - her soft pink fingers. Her mouth formed a smile for the first time that she could remember, a smile to rival that of any smile in any tale throughout history. She tilted her head back toward the sky to let her tears fall away. And as the girl ran her fingers through her hair they seemed to push colour through each strand. Every shade of an early summer sun glowed behind her and onto her shoulders. Glancing down she saw the tips, each one seemed a different golden shade than the next. She laughed. Not a mocking laugh, an uncomfortable laugh, or the laugh of some one amused. It was a sound of happiness, of freedom. As the tears dried on her cheeks she reached up to touch them.

At that very moment the garden parted in front of her, revealing a small pool of crystal clear water. She looked down and covered her mouth with her hands in amazement. She could not help but stare into the reflection of her own softly tanned skin and freckle-framed eyes; deep green as though they had mirrored the leaves of the trees themselves.

As she moved her hands away from her face, she caught sight of her red lips, which immediately curled into another beautiful smile. She rose to her feet, unsure of herself, brimming with a joy to which she could do no justice with words. Her clothes were no longer grey but a brilliant white, almost shining like the light that had first drawn her here. As her mind brushed past the memory of where she had come from, she remembered her sole possession. Acting as though reading her thoughts, the garden wrapped up the solemn grey paper bag, carrying it higher into the trees. She caught her breath; even in her new found form, the simple bag held so much power over her. She could not help but wonder what would become of the bag, and what would become of her.

She watched as the bag stopped its ascent and the vines that held it slowly uncurled the tightly folded edges. The girl could only stand and stare as the garden carefully lifted an object from it, and the bag fell from the trees. As it fell, it fluttered and broke apart, caught on a breeze and falling in tiny pieces to the ground. The girl barely noticed as she focused on the object that the garden tightly held.

It was a perfectly round stone about the size of a fist, almost black but smooth, reflecting light from its immaculate surface. Fear rose in her chest as she watched, and she felt a dull ache in her heart as she gazed upon it. The stone was her sadness, the stone was everything she felt but would not face. She had kept it so tightly hidden, yet so close to her, never letting go but trying to forget.

The garden knew her pain. Slowly it rested the stone in the whitest of flowers; a large lily that floated in the centre of the pool. All the other flowers grew around it, conscious of the sadness it contained. The girl knelt in the grass and gazed out onto it, but this time she understood. She acknowledged her pain, she respected and understood it. It would not control her, nor would she be scared of it any longer. She finally felt at ease and she laid her head down in the soft grass, closing her eyes for the rest she had longed for. There was a place for the stone here, a place where it could rest as it should. Not forgotten, but neither would it be dwelt upon, or ruin this place. It was a part of her, and she knew that. Now it was a part of the garden.

Her garden.