Not only is Amethyst perfect for when I need an injection of fluff in the story, but she also represents a piece of Zach's own struggle. She was abandoned by her flock because she's different, and he fears his own differences will make him an outcast.
This scene doesn't dwell on those issues. It simply describes Zach trying to meditate in his garden.
You open the backdoor of your home, entering a spectacular garden. It’s spring, and the tulips have burst open in a cacophony of colors on a mound in the center of the space. The paper whites, more demure, form a ring of white around the tulips. Spruce and juniper line up ahead of you, marking the far end of the yard.
No, not a yard. This is a paradise. You’re paying extra to rent this house, because of the garden. That’s why you make a point of drinking your coffee out here every morning.
The juniper makes you sneeze, but it’s worth it to have your own, personal paradise.
There’s an ornate, green-tinted metal bench with its back toward the house. You sit, placing your cup of coffee on the matching side table. Breathing deeply, you notice the almost cloying sweetness of the hyacinths. They’re shy, hiding under the trees to your right. This time of day their deep purple blossoms are obscured in the shadows.
Now that you’re seated, you slide off your sandals and let your toes wiggle in the cool, green grass.
To your left, a small fountain burbles cheerfully. It provides the perfect white noise for your morning meditation. You cast your gaze beyond the yard, beyond the neighborhood. This morning the sky is clear, and you can see the mountains. You reflect on their age and majesty, and slowly your mind clears of all conscious thought. You are relaxed, at one with your garden, one with all living things. Truly, you are a master of meditation, a —
Quack!
The duckling you adopted two weeks ago wishes to greet you. Ignore her. She will understand your need for quiet contemplation.
Quack!
Or perhaps she needs a reminder. You turn in her direction and shush her. You explain in hushed tones that this is a sacred moment. This is a routine she must honor with you.
Quack! Quack!
It’s been the same for the last two weeks. She simply doesn’t get it.
You open a green plastic tub, which you’d stashed under the bench in the hopes it wouldn’t mar the aesthetics of the garden. Upending the tub, the duckling’s toys spill onto the ground.
You see the plush giraffe in the pile of toys. You bought it because the duckling missed the soft warmth of her mother and a stuffed animal seemed like the perfect substitute. It wasn’t until you brought it home that you realized it was named Giggles, and why it had earned that name.
You tell yourself the duckling will pick a quiet toy to amuse herself. Surely you’ve earned a respite, for saving the life of an abandoned duckling. The universe will grant your moment of peace at the start of the day.
Right?
You slow your breath. You focus on the lilac bushes beyond the fountain. Soon they will be in bloom, showering the garden with petals and scent. You envision this, and you are serene.
Hee-hee.
As she has the last twelve mornings, the duckling has chosen to play with the giraffe. She likes to jump on the toy, activating the giggling sound it was named for.
Hee-hee.
You sigh and reach for your coffee. It’s already cold. You really should use a thermos to preserve the heat on these brisk spring mornings.
Hee-hee.
You bring your attention back to the duckling. Would she respond to a firm lecture?
You look at her and wonder if ducks laugh. She seems so happy, so present in the moment.
Quack!
It sounds like an invitation to laugh along with her, to share her bliss.
“Silly duck,” you say, and smile at her. You accept this as your new morning routine.
In this scene the narrator was originally intended to be Zach, but I'll admit a lot of my voice came through, so I won't be surprised if readers think the narrator is a woman.
Read more posts about Prime
Visit the Prime page for the latest status
Here's Amethyst:
You open the backdoor of your home, entering a spectacular garden. It’s spring, and the tulips have burst open in a cacophony of colors on a mound in the center of the space. The paper whites, more demure, form a ring of white around the tulips. Spruce and juniper line up ahead of you, marking the far end of the yard.
No, not a yard. This is a paradise. You’re paying extra to rent this house, because of the garden. That’s why you make a point of drinking your coffee out here every morning.
The juniper makes you sneeze, but it’s worth it to have your own, personal paradise.
There’s an ornate, green-tinted metal bench with its back toward the house. You sit, placing your cup of coffee on the matching side table. Breathing deeply, you notice the almost cloying sweetness of the hyacinths. They’re shy, hiding under the trees to your right. This time of day their deep purple blossoms are obscured in the shadows.
Now that you’re seated, you slide off your sandals and let your toes wiggle in the cool, green grass.
To your left, a small fountain burbles cheerfully. It provides the perfect white noise for your morning meditation. You cast your gaze beyond the yard, beyond the neighborhood. This morning the sky is clear, and you can see the mountains. You reflect on their age and majesty, and slowly your mind clears of all conscious thought. You are relaxed, at one with your garden, one with all living things. Truly, you are a master of meditation, a —
Quack!
The duckling you adopted two weeks ago wishes to greet you. Ignore her. She will understand your need for quiet contemplation.
Quack!
Or perhaps she needs a reminder. You turn in her direction and shush her. You explain in hushed tones that this is a sacred moment. This is a routine she must honor with you.
Quack! Quack!
It’s been the same for the last two weeks. She simply doesn’t get it.
You open a green plastic tub, which you’d stashed under the bench in the hopes it wouldn’t mar the aesthetics of the garden. Upending the tub, the duckling’s toys spill onto the ground.
You see the plush giraffe in the pile of toys. You bought it because the duckling missed the soft warmth of her mother and a stuffed animal seemed like the perfect substitute. It wasn’t until you brought it home that you realized it was named Giggles, and why it had earned that name.
You tell yourself the duckling will pick a quiet toy to amuse herself. Surely you’ve earned a respite, for saving the life of an abandoned duckling. The universe will grant your moment of peace at the start of the day.
Right?
You slow your breath. You focus on the lilac bushes beyond the fountain. Soon they will be in bloom, showering the garden with petals and scent. You envision this, and you are serene.
Hee-hee.
As she has the last twelve mornings, the duckling has chosen to play with the giraffe. She likes to jump on the toy, activating the giggling sound it was named for.
Hee-hee.
You sigh and reach for your coffee. It’s already cold. You really should use a thermos to preserve the heat on these brisk spring mornings.
Hee-hee.
You bring your attention back to the duckling. Would she respond to a firm lecture?
You look at her and wonder if ducks laugh. She seems so happy, so present in the moment.
Quack!
It sounds like an invitation to laugh along with her, to share her bliss.
“Silly duck,” you say, and smile at her. You accept this as your new morning routine.
In this scene the narrator was originally intended to be Zach, but I'll admit a lot of my voice came through, so I won't be surprised if readers think the narrator is a woman.
Read more posts about Prime
Visit the Prime page for the latest status
Here's Amethyst:
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