|The Rooftop Garden
Author: marigold-heart PM
Follow the adventures of Marigold Hart, Susan Blue and Helena Ping in their English countryside village of Badgershire. They recount their experiences in Marigold's magical - in more ways than one - rooftop garden.Rated: Fiction K - English - Drama - Words: 387 - Published: 01-25-13 - id: 3095448
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The Rooftop Garden
~ Chapter One ~
Every Monday sunrise, three girls met on a quaint and cosy rooftop garden in the heart of the English countryside village Badgershire. Their names were Marigold Hart, Susan Blue and Helena Ping.
Marigold was a pretty young lady of twenty-one with luscious red gold curls that looked as if a strand would sell for a million pounds. She had eyes so round and green they were reminiscent of sweetly floating lily pads in a garden pond. Altogether, she looked like the rarest and most beautiful of seraphims. Her parentage boasted of a robust line of Old Etonians on her father's side and whom was presently a nationwide famous lawyer whose incongruously forgettable name was George Hart. Mrs Rosamund Hart (previously an Esprit), on the other hand, was an Oxford alumni of organ playing. She was blessed with an elegant beauty which only increased and became more apparent with age. Anyhow, on this particular Monday morning, Marigold was waiting patiently for Susan and Helena to join her in her very own rooftop garden.
The second girl – Susan – was sixteen with a head bursting full of natural coils of dark mahogany and serene sky hued eyes. An idiosyncrasy of hers was that no matter how old fashioned and so like a Victorian's style it appeared, she always wore delicate, lacy blue ribbons in her locks to compliment those wondrous eyes. Her father Christopher was an accountant and her mother, Bonnie, a plump, freckled housewife whose cooking creations were the stuff of legend. Anyway, Susan shortly joined Marigold, waving gaily as she came to the garden.
Finally, Helena Ping considered her physical appearance to be of absolutely no consequence. However, if pressed to describe herself kindly; she was short and chubby. Furthermore, she would then look forced to admit with a sigh her ripe old age of twenty. Then, Helena would point out her lank dirt black hair and matching eyes: her features were insignificant to all in her opinion. In sum, Helena considered herself – in the entire sense of the word – ugly. Helena was an orphan and lived by herself in a modest little cottage at the end of Shirley Terrace. She was the last to join the girls lolling in that garden which was a magical world of their own.