Serenity (Open)

[Simon Lennox]

Simon stepped with care, not wanting to tread on any of the flowers. They looked so delicate and out of place amidst the dreary surroundings that was St. Anne's. The garden was the only part of the grounds and building that anyone might refer to as "beautiful" or "lovely". It was Simon's favorite place in the whole world.

The entire place was horrendously overgrown and half of the plants were weeds, but it still presented a lovely visage. Even weeds grew after all, and to see something growing in such a lonely place was a blessing. A few of the children would attempt to clear out a small corner here and there, but for the most part, the plants were left to their own devices. Simon would come out and water them every once in awhile if it hadn't rained.

There had been a gardener at one point, a vicious older man who had kept the children from playing in the ground and who had helped to catch children who tried to run away. Simon didn't know if he was still in the basement or if he had already had his time on the alter. Frankly, he didn't care.

Simon made his way through the winding paths, careful of the thorns on some of the plants. He'd traversed it many times before and was at complete ease. He finally made it to the swing and sat down on it, remembering the few times he'd been allowed to come out here when he was younger. He'd sat on this swing so many times, often crying, rarely laughing. Even if he was seventeen now, he still loved the swing like a child.

He was careful not to spend too much time out here, knowing that he should leave it free for the younger children. Still, for now, this was his time. His little piece of serenity.

[Elizabeth Everington]

It would be a lie if somebody stated that Elizabeth enjoyed spending time outdoors. In fact, it would be a downright and utter insult if on were to suggest that she experienced pleasure while taking in the scents of fresh pollen that fill the air so obnoxiously in many areas of the countryside, or even took comfort in observing the delicate petals of a newly sprung flower. Indeed not, Elizabeth chose to spend her time locked away indoors, tucked into the not so safety of the Derelict branch of the orphanage.

The orphanage. Images flashed through Elizabeth’s mind, of blood, pain, screaming. She could hear her own screams in her ears, the unanswered calls for help. They went unanswered because the adults didn’t care, no, they took pleasure in the pain of children. And her screams went unanswered because they were silent. Elizabeth had always been quiet, and had refused to let the screams escape her lips. She did not give the adults any satisfaction of knowing how they had hurt her. And so, the screams rang on in her head, screams mimicking those of the other children, starved and beaten, bloody and worn. They were broken.

Broken… yes broken. Elizabeth thought to herself. She herself was also broken, much like the other children, much like the two groups. They were broken and divided, all because of the adults. We are all like little broken toys, left here to wallow in our misery while we pretend like everything is so much better now that we live under the mysterious Shadow Man.

As for why Elizabeth was outside in the vast garden, the answer was quite simple. The silence. In her wing of the orphanage, carnage was everywhere. War cries and violent play fighting filled the walls, and Elizabeth was not a fan of violence. Nor was she a fan of the Aristocrats. She was suited for neither group, but less so for the Aristocrats. As Elizabeth sat under a contorted and withered tree, she realized that the empty garden with its beautiful silence, which only just overpowered her disgust of the outdoors, was becoming not so empty. In fact, she could hear footsteps. Oh dear. If it is a group of babbling eight year olds talking about how pretty the dirt is I think I will lose the will to live. Although, I suppose I have already lost it. More images flooded her mind, a vicious onslaught that was not betrayed through her eyes.

A young man emerged from the winding paths. Well at least it isn’t a bubbly little brat. Elizabeth recognized him, or at least she thought she did, to be Simon… or was it Samuel? Elizabeth rarely interacted with the other children enough to get to know any of them, let alone their names. How anybody could find comfort in another human being was completely mindboggling to Elizabeth. The young man sat on the swing, if you could even call it that. Elizabeth watched him from the shadows. She probably looked quite a sight, hiding under the shadows. He had not seen her yet, or was pretending not to have, so Elizabeth sighed and pulled her long blond braid back over her shoulder as she fluffed out her dress. “I take it that you came here for some alone time, or at least some peace. If so, my apologies.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree, wondering why something always disturbed her when she was having an interesting train of thought.