I like it here. This world, this land, this garden.
I know of stories - faraway places where death is a constant and suffering guaranteed. I do not know the meaning of these words, yet I know they are almost always proceeded by great grief. I do not understand death or despair, but I know grief.
Grief.
I’ve experienced it only once; and that was enough for me to
understand.
I do not like these stories, these other worlds. I like this place, this grass
that I’m standing on. The trees are always fruitful and the soil always fertile,
where the little lambs skip in the sunset and all is happy. I fear those
distant lands.
Fear.
I have only ever felt fear when thinking of those Earths.
Once I travelled to the coastline - a journey of two days and nights - and looked
as far as I could into the horizon. I had a great perception that all those
things that I fear so greatly come from beyond that faint, distant line.
I ran.
Ran until my feet bled and my legs collapsed and there was nothing left in my
being but pure, utter exhaustion. Then I crawled, dragging my bruised legs as fast as I
could as if the only thing compelling me was that terror of the coast and the
need to get as far away as possible. I estimate it took me but three quarters of
the daylight to make it back to my homestead.
I cried that night for the first
time. Great, heaving sobs that felt like they’d never end. As my chest swelled and my
heart ached I made a promise to myself - I will never let that land touch me.
Yet, I do not know how to stop it.
I like this world, this land, this garden. Where the grass catches the sunlight in golden droplets and the ground is always welcoming and soft. Nightfall is a purple peace under a silver moon and even the crickets are content with their music.
I like it here.
I do not want it to end, yet I know that it must. It is one
of the world’s terrible constants. The fish, the trees, the tiny insects and
the huge elephants. We all know it to be true.
I do not know how this knowledge
came to be, yet I know it is irrefutable. Fruit must rot, soil must be razed,
lambs must be slaughtered, and happiness must end. Paradise must end.
I do not like it.
I am scared.
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125,020 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
This is so tender, yet unguarded.
The first thing I noticed about this is the interplay between the idyllic world and the creeping knowledge of its impermanence. I think the story becomes an allegory of innocence. The garden isn't just a place; it's safety, ignorance, and beauty all at once. The horizon represents something primal and vast. I think that captures something so universal, and it works well in its simplicity.
Though, I wonder what lies beyond the horizon that could make this fear more tangible. It exists in a state of uncertainty. Is it simply the unknown, or something specific? Building a clearer "why" for the fear would add more tension to the narrative. The narrator’s attachment to the garden is clear, but there is no reason why it matters beyond its beauty. Adding subtle personal memories tied to the space would deepen the connection for me. There has to be more to the story than what is said here.
How do you feel about where this ends? I can't tell if the narrator stays trapped in their fear, or if there's resolve buried somewhere. It might be interesting to explore whether this is about succumbing to dread or finding a way to face it. Right now, it could be either of those. Pick a side, or find a way to combine them.
All the best!
hey! ash here! just dropped by the green room for a quick review and came across this gem of a piece. i love this work a lot. if you watch anime, it vaguely reminds me of attack on titan and i love it.
first off, it's very very well written. the simple, descriptive narration style really works when talking about life and death, and it especially works here. the lack of any contractions really works in your favor too. it makes the message hit harder, and simultaneously reveals the innocence of the narrator, as he comes to terms with the fact that life is finite.
i also have a lot of questions about the actual story. is the narrator on an island? has he been sheltered from the world? how did he learn about death? who is telling him these stories about death and despair? this short story could genuinely become a full-fledged novel, or at least a much longer short story. there's a lot of ways you could branch this out, and I'm excited to see if you decide to do it.
overall, very nice short. i love it, keep it up
love, ash