Therapy in a Pond
A post-apocalyptic scene based on the Adelaide Himeji Gardens. This was my final assignment for my Creative Lit class this semester. Its an exploration piece on self-isolation, depression, chronic fatigue and stress. I hope you enjoy!
TW: Suicide, depression, mentions of dead bodies, descriptions of insanity
The Japanese styled Adelaide Himeji Gardens were beautiful.
It’s a shame I’ve decided to corrupt it with my presence.
The shorter trees had their leaves cut into perfectly round clusters, while the taller trees provided the local birds with a home. Bright red berries and dying leaves littered the stone path that leads to the Zen Garden at the back before circling back around to the entrance. There was a faint drip of water hitting stone from the shishi-odoshi by the door.
The sound of splashing water and birdsong increases the further I walk in, where a large pond with a small waterfall that disturbs the water in the pond lies. The water lilies supply shade for the fish swimming beneath, innocent and ignorant to the world above them. In the middle of this pond was a small rock appearing from the water, balancing two larger, flat rocks on it, creating a bridge of sorts.
I take careful steps on the stone bridge, slowly putting my weight on each foot. I sit down in the middle of the bridge, feet hanging off and into the water. The cold water starts eating away at my legs, causing them to become numb.
I watch as the water ripples, carrying fallen leaves on the gentle waves to the bank of the pond, where a large gathering of fellow wet leaves rest.
I want to be a leaf.
Let me elaborate. As a human, I have too many emotions. There’s always something going on, or someone wanting to talk to me or reconnect after a long time apart. But if I were a leaf, no one would expect anything of me. People would leave me alone, let me float on water as it carries me to some unknown destination where I’ll probably start decaying. I might help another plant if I decay in the right spot.
I don’t have any reason to be here. I’m not helping anyone by simply existing, but I probably have provided a lot of strangers with funny stories to tell their family and friends. I want to know what life would be like if I just simply didn’t exist. Not even a thought of my existence.
“You know,” I begin. Apparently talking to yourself is good, even though its only ever done by crazy people in media. Don’t know where I heard that it was good for you, but it’s worth a shot. “In Ancient Greek mythology, they believed that there were water spirits – Nymphs. I seriously hope they weren’t right, because I’ve got my feet in you.”
A breeze travelled through the garden, hitting my face like a bag of icicles. I look down into the water, shielding my face from any more possible assaults from the wind.
“Can you fish keep a secret?” I ask. One brave goldfish swims near me, their mouth gapping open and then shutting. “I’ll take that as a yes, Lord Sir Fish, Duke of all Fish.” I look back at my legs, the water seeping through my jeans. My socks squish every time I move my toes. A small part of me feels bad about my shoes, but I bought them with my hard-earned, albeit stolen, money, so the feeling fades quick.
“Some days I don’t want to be alive.” I whisper, afraid of someone overhearing me. Possibly that really fucking loud bird. He seems to like gossip. “Sometimes, I confuse the fuck out of myself. My gender confuses me, my sexuality confuses. I don’t know what I am. I just want to be.”
I glance back at Lord Sir Fish, Duke of all Fish, who was still gaping at me.
“I’m probably just a fucking idiot.” I huff out a laugh as I fiddle with my hands, tugging on the skin and picking at my nails. Maybe if I claw my way out of this skin, I’ll finally be able to see who I am. Ah, but I’ve already tried that. All I got was some nasty cuts on my face. I start humming as my brain tries to think.
“I know I like women. It’s kinda hard not too, Lord Sir Fish, Duke of all Fish. Have you seen some of them? There’s this one woman that I shared a class with who is absolutely adorable, I’m kinda surprised she didn’t notice considering we had done a group project together. Wait- this isn’t what I started talking about. Let’s go back.”
Lord Sir Fish, Duke of all Fish finally gives up on me, swimming far away, probably in hopes of finding a fish therapist.
“Fuck you too, Lord Sir Fish, Duke of all Fish,” I yell, flipping off the fish as it swims away. I made a genuine attempt to try and not disrupt the quiet, contemplative nature of this garden, but then that asshole just- no, nope. This is the therapy pond. Get back to it. I find a tiny pebble next to me and decide to hold him in both my hands, cradling him like a precious life.
“You’ll do well as my next therapist. You can’t swim away from me.” I declare, officially knighting him as Sir Rockelot.
Sir Rockelot stares at me, encouraging me to reveal my inner feelings that I never managed to do with my actual therapist.
“Ok, so, I know that, in the end, this conversation isn’t going to matter or end well. Nothing really does. So, Sir Rockelot, give me a purpose. Anything. Spin the wheel, little fella,”
Sir Rockelot does nothing.
“Asshole. Sorry, I didn’t mean that. It was instinctive.” I decide to watch the clouds for a while. The slow movements seem to soothe me, opening me up to appreciate that I’ve been living long enough to see those clouds. They might’ve been lonely without me.
“You know what, Sir Rockelot? I’m cold. Let’s walk and talk,” I pull my legs up and out of the pond, the water dripping down my legs as I make my way to the entrance.
I walk outside the Adelaide Himeji Garden, stepping over the bones of some poor soul that didn’t have it in them to kill to survive.
“Well, at least I’m not some teacher or whatever who has to read a stupid number of words about me talking to a fish and then a rock. That would be way worse than what I’m currently going through.” I say, throwing and catching Sir Rockelot in one hand as my other gently rests upon my knives, a reassuring act.
The fires had long since died and the only thing left to sort through was the rubble. That, and my scrambled mind. I’m not entirely sure how this all happened, or how I got here. All I know is that I am here.
“So, Sir Rockelot, got any advice? End of the world and all that?” I ask, genuinely wanting an answer. I don’t know when I last talked to a human, but I know I wasn’t any good at it.
Sir Rockelot stares at me. Do something that makes you happy, at least once a day to keep the suicide away, I hear him respond.
“Hm, that’s... actually not too bad, Sir Rockelot.” I think it over. I enjoyed reading, and writing, when there was something other than death in the world. “Maybe I could restore a church and turn it into a library? I did always like those house renovation games...”
Why the fuck not? Sir Rockelot asks. What’s holding you back now? Money? I laugh.
“Ha! That was a good one, Sir Rockelot. Everyone’s dead, there’s no cashier to make small talk with. Thank Tamagotchi, our lord and saviour,” I quickly pat the back pocket my Tamagotchi is in, making sure I didn’t lose the poor bugger.
“I think that stuff was terrible. Small talk, I mean.” I keep walking, my pants have started to dry with the cold wind. I raise my scarf to cover my mouth, trying to keep the cold air out. The last thing I need is a cold right now. I just found something to live for! Speaking of...
“I want that big church. You know the one, in the north of the CBD? Well, I don’t actually know where it is, but it’s somewhere in the CBD. Really grand. Super impressive. Would look a thousand times better if it was an archive,” I gasp, looking at Sir Rockelot.
“I could turn it into,” I pause for dramatic effect, “The Queer Archive, TM,” I look down at Sir Rockelot, waiting for him to agree with me.
Shouldn’t all literature be valued and treasured though? Each has their own deeper meaning that only they can tell! Sir Rockelot asks, or protests. Perhaps argued. I don’t know, I didn’t think about it long enough before I threw him.
“Ah fuck,” I scramble after Sir Rockelot, scraping my hands as I rush over and spot him. He’s easy to find among the concrete rubble and bones. “Sorry, Sir Rockelot. You’ll still help with the Archive, right?” I ask, kind of pleading, but I won’t ever admit that.
Of course! Let’s get to work!
Oh, thank Tamagotchi.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s get going.”
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