The Shed

"The Shed"

Gregory A. Gilbert

Creative Writing[pic 1]

February 15, 2012[pic 2]

The world isn't always what it seems.  When a mysterious garden shed appears along the fence line, an unlikely pair find themselves transported to a place where their very survival will depend upon their willingness to cooperate.  Two neighbors who aren't exactly the best thereof - A scientist who has no time for aesthetics; an artist who is more creative than logical; they meet a gardener who helps them grow together.  Can unapparent love be revealed in two hearts with so many thorns?  As the two attempt to find their way home, they find that collaboration is key… the key to their love.  A story of two testy people put to the test.  A greater test above the rest:  The test of love.

The Shed

I.

        The day started out like any other.  The sun was almost straight up lighting a clear blue sky; the suburban-size tree branches had their leaves twinkling in the ever-so-slight breeze.  Off somewhere close, birds were chirping while squirrels chittered.  A lovely spring day.   It was for everyone but two particular neighbors.

        Margaron Brochard was bright and brilliant.  Originally Margery, after her great-grandmother, she changed her name to the more self-suited Greek for "pearl," having become tired of childhood taunts.  Despite the change, peers and colleagues in the scientific community referred to her as "Marjoram," because of her pungent but natural scent.  Frustrated with the lack of people's understanding of what she considered basic knowledge, she usually avoided human interaction.

           Antoine DuBois was the complete opposite – a Bohemian artist who let his mind wander.  Attracted to literature and art, he wrote some, painted some, but mostly, he mooched.  Living in the home his grandmother left him, along with a small stipend for incidentals, he lived "the life of Riley" or so he made it appear, much to the chagrin of his neighbors.  Especially a crabby scientist, who had the unfortunate luck to have just purchased her home between a man who traveled so often his house seemed vacant and a charming old woman who stayed inside and didn't want to speak with anyone – but died a month later, leaving her home to her artist grandson, of all people.

        Margaron stood in place and stared.  What was to be a routine trip to her patio to check on her horticulture experiment turned into something quite different.  For there, straddled on the property line, was a shed.  A garden shed.  It appeared to be half on her property and half on that artist's property.  Why would he do such a thing?  What would his motives be?  Despicable man.  There was a door.  Let's see what that artist had in this shed.  Margaron marched over to the door and flung it open.  It was quite an ordinary shed, with ordinary gardening tools resting along walls and some empty flower pots stacked haphazardly on the floor.