Sierra wandered the garden path. This was supposed to be a sanctuary. A place where she could rest and recover. But it infuriated her to no end.
She was sick to death of organic fruit and scratchy cotton robes. The keepers said it was to promote enlightenment but it just made Sierra want to scream until her throat was raw.
She missed her shitty apartment. The way the local pharmacy sign shone directly into her window at midnight, waking her from her fitful sleep. Her wasteful coffee maker that ate pods and spit out mediocre coffee in an instant. The clothes in her closet were not handmade or couture, but they were hers.
Another morning dawned with the ringing of gentle bells and the morning sun blasting her through the terrace window. Sierra wished she could hide under the bed, but the keepers would find her and gently admonish her for missing the morning meditation. She hated their gentleness and the soft way they spoke.
The worst part about all of this was Sierra had volunteered for this! Her friends had been so jealous that she would get to spend a month getting a green glimpse of perfect paradise. Sierra remembered how excited she had been to get here. Then they took all of her technology away at the door and gave her a simple journal instead.
Sierra pulled on another shapeless cotton robe from the closet and grabbed the journal. She carried it down to morning meditation and sat on her assigned cushion. Her back ached from sitting this way for the last three weeks. As everyone around her hummed and chanted, she scribbled in her journal. Every terrible thought. Every longing for her old life. It helped for a little while. The meditation hour passed and everyone quietly got up to break their fast. Sierra followed them into the dining hall.
Low tables were scattered about the space with cushions to sit on. Sierra wanted to cry for the want of a chair. She grabbed a plain bowl of oatmeal and poured a mug full of tea. As always, there were no sweeteners, no fruit. Nothing but bland to wash down the taste of bland. Sierra sighed at the sad meal in front of her. She’d actually begun to look forward to the late afternoon meal where there would be some fruit to liven up the flavor.
The facilitator rang the bell on the wall. Everyone went silent and looked up at her. “Today marks the beginning of the end of your time here at our little sanctuary. Things will slowly change for you over the next few days. We thank all of you for your patience these last few weeks, enlightenment is as close as the nearest star and a far away as the farthest blade of grass. Today we start with something a little sweet and spicy.” She held up a jar full of a dark golden liquid.
“This is wasp honey, the first taste of sweetener you’ve had in weeks. I suggest you use it wisely.” The facilitator walked over and placed the jar on the table Sierra was sitting at. A wooden dowel stuck out of the jar.
Sierra kept the smile plastered on her face and murmured thanks to the facilitator. The noisy hum of the other participants started right back up. Sierra moved the wasp honey near her food. She lifted the dowel and realized it was a honey dipper. Sierra drizzled the honey across her oatmeal and grabbed a second dipperful to drip into her tea. She put the dipper back and passed the jar to the person sitting next to her.
Sierra took a bite of her oatmeal and nearly groaned in relief. The wasp honey somehow tasted like the lilac trees that grew in her grandmother’s backyard. Sierra savored the memory and the odd flavor. For once she was not in a rush to get up off the floor and off to find a distraction for the day. Sierra took a sip of her tea and was shocked to find it tasted like her favorite donut shop coffee drink. She looked at the others at her table. Most of them just took a tiny bit of honey.
Sierra devoured her breakfast and tea with delight. When it was all gone, she felt a tiny sting in her heart. Tears suddenly poured down her face. Sierra hurried to wash her dishes and put them away before anyone noticed her breakdown. She went out the side door and hurried to a secluded corner of the garden.
A small bench sat there and Sierra slumped into it gratefully. It was the closest thing to a chair anywhere on the property. She felt years of tears pour down her face. They flooded her face and dripped all over the pages of her journal as she wrote out years and years of repressed sadness.
She was shocked out of her frenzy by the sound of the afternoon meal bell. Her journal was now over two thirds full. Sierra’s hands were cramped from writing for hours. Looking at the pages, she almost didn’t recognize her own handwriting. The last thing she had wrote was: maybe this is where great dreams begin, at the end of sadness and the start of madness.
She pulled herself up to standing. Somehow she felt ten years older and yet freer than she had ever felt. Sierra nearly skipped on her way back to the dining hall for the afternoon meal.
The prompts for this short story:
Wasp Honey
Green Glimpse
Sanctuary
Where Great Dreams Begin
Copyright 2025 Klaudia Grady
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