Chapter 1

The strange flower

I am not an old man, far from it in fact, but I have seen things in my short life that would make a twice older man cry like an infant. It is for many reasons that I have, for the past ten years of my life, sought solitude, far from the prying eyes of my so called “brethren”. Wondering about the countryside, I fancied myself a sort of modern day hermit. But one day I came upon a place so perfect, so filled with that same wonder I used to feel in the olden times, the times where my beloved and I were together on this earth, that I had to stay. Money not being a problem, my parents had left me a significant sum upon their deaths, money that until now lay in a bank vault somewhere back in civilization, I decided to construct a haunt, a reclusedom, if you will, where I could live out the rest of my life in peaceful solitude among those seemingly mystical trees.

With the necessary arrangements having been made, I watched as the house of my dreams, or so I thought, was constructed. The building and furnishing of the house took less than a year. The house was not big, as I was to be the only inhabitant. It had a small, but splendid atrium, leading on either side into a short glass hallway. The eastern of these two glass halls leads to the most splendid, but utterly useless large formal dining room, connected on its northern end to a slightly offset smaller, quainter dining area. To the west of this quainter dining area is attached a kitchen, slightly offset from the dining rooms, so that the three rooms create a sort of diagonal. The western glass hall leads directly into my bedroom, which I connected to the northern study. Ah’ what a magnificent study it is, the far wall is solid glass lattice, with the two parallel walls being divided equally between glass lattice and stone, the sun shines in brightly in the morrow, the stone walls are covered in book shelves, each one filled with books of every shape and size, vines grow up the glass lattice as if nature and civilization were at last at peace (in this room anyway). In the natural space between the western and eastern wings of the house, I had in mind to plant a spectacular garden.

It had to have been one of the first afternoons in the house that I found myself in need of fresh air, putting on my hat and grabbing my cane, I proceeded to walk into the interior garden. I made certain to watch my step, as not to crush any of the newly cultivated plants, as it would not be easy to replace them on account of the distance of the house from civilization. I walked from the cultivated landscape of the garden into the wildness of the dark forest.

Ancient trees overhung with heavy leaves obscured any sort of path, so I proceeded to wonder among them until I came to a small stream. The stream, full of crystal clear water, seemed to run partially above ground and partially underneath. Here and there a small portion of the stream was visible. How curious this was, I bent down to examine the stream more closely. Then something caught my eye. I sprig of blue among the brown, gray, and green of the forest floor. I turned. Ah’ it was beautiful, I perfect blue flower. As I examined it further, it seemed to glow in the sylvan twilight. How strange and yet wonderful it was, I was resolved to run back to the house and return with a shovel, with which I would dig up the curious flower and transplant it into my garden.

Upon my return, I found the flower just as I left it, seemingly glowing in the darkness of the overhanging trees. I carefully dug the flower from its place of birth and carried it back to the interior garden where I replanted it in a place of prominence, for it was so spectacular to me, I felt it deserved a special place in the garden.

But this time, the sun had become obscured by the trees and darkness was falling fast. I tugged on the chain that kept my watch in my waistcoat pocket and glanced at it. Resolving that it was time for supper, I walked through the garden and back inside my house.

I took my supper into my study, bypassing the two dining rooms, and sat down in a very comfortable arm chair. Placing my tray of food on a small table next to the chair, I rose, and found myself a crystal glass and poured myself some scotch. Glass in hand; I walked among the tall bookshelves looking for a good read for that evening. My eyes rested on several old favorites before I resolved to pull one from the shelf and set to reading.

I read until nightfall, breaking intermittently to take a bit of food or a sip of scotch. Once night had fallen, I lit myself a candle to continue reading by. I read until my eyes were overcome with sleep. Taking my candle, I replaced the book on the shelve and walked the short distance to my bedroom.

Putting on my sleep clothes, I looked out the window into the garden. The crystalline blue of the flower was visible even in the pitch blackness of the night. What a curious little flower it was, I thought I a snuffed the candle and drifted off the sleep.