21 DAYS TO THE GARDEN
"How are you doing?" Wendy whispered, scratching the chin of the little tabby curled under the bush. It purred, flicking one of its ragged ears in satisfaction.
The peace was interrupted by the back door sliding open. Her older brother Winston stepped out of the house and onto the deck, yawning. The television could be heard through the open door, choppy in the background from poor connection, reporting the same information it has been repeating for the past year.
"…scientists say there is no solution…" the reporter uttered in a grim tone. "…sun will go out…the Earth will freeze…twenty one days left."
Winston slid the back door shut. Upon seeing him, the cat withdrew into the bush, disappearing to somewhere Wendy could no longer see nor reach.
"What?" Winston asked, noticing Wendy's glare. "Did I do something?"
"No," Wendy replied stiffly.
"Were you feeding that cat again?"
"Yes."
"Did you ask Mother about keeping it yet?"
"No."
"That's good. You know what she's like. And we're leaving for the Garden today, anyways. We wouldn't be able to take it with us."
"I know."
Winston shrugged. "Well, as long as you know." Stretching his arms, he stepped off the deck and into the yard.
The sky was just beginning to lighten. A cool breeze drifted through the yard—a welcome occurrence in the summer morning. The first songs of the birds could be heard and the sun had not yet heated the air, making the dawn pleasant and comfortable.
"It's a beautiful day to leave for the Garden," the siblings' mother said, watering her flowers one more time.
"It's a perfect day to leave for the Garden," their father commented, fiddling with the rope in his hands.
"It's too early to leave for the Garden," Winston complained, running a hand through his unbrushed blond hair. "Can't we leave in, like, a few hours, when most people are actually conscious?"
"But look how nice it is right now. You couldn't be more comfortable than now," their mother said.
'It is beautiful,' Wendy thought, watching from the deck while her family made preparations to leave. 'It's a shame there will be no more mornings like this.'
Her attention was caught once again by the little bundle of fur crouched under the bush, its high-pitched meow pulling her back to reality. She pet its head and it closed its eyes, leaning into her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I can't take you with us. But…maybe another time." Wendy undid the clasp of the vial around her neck and set it gently on the deck. The cat watched with large yellow eyes as she pulled out a pen and a slip of paper from her pocket. She scribbled a few words onto the paper before folding it carefully until she could not fold it anymore, and slipped it into the vial.
"Wendy!" a voice called. The cat scampered away and Wendy's head shot up, turning to meet the eyes of her mother. "It's time to go! Come here right this instant!"
Without a second thought, Wendy scrambled to her feet and ran towards her mother, who was waiting under the large oak tree. As she got closer, she saw that Winston and her father had already left. Her chest lurched upon seeing their limp bodies but did not say anything.
"Are you ready, sweetie?" her mother asked. "Say goodbye to the house, now."
Wordlessly, Wendy took in her surroundings one last time. The quaint house she grew up in. The yard filled with flowers. Everything she ever knew, she was about to leave behind for the Garden.
"Come on, your father and brother are waiting for us," her mother said, holding out a hand.
Wendy bit her lip. She had no other choice.
Right before she was about to take her mother's hand, a glint of sunlight caught her eye. Confused, she turned towards it.
The glass vial. She had forgotten the necklace, and it now lay on the deck, resting by the bush.
"Wendy?" her mother said, but Wendy did not pay her any notice.
Without even realizing, she found herself running as fast as her legs could carry her toward the necklace.
"Wendy!" her mother screeched, but Wendy did not turn around, did not stop, did not even slow down. She ran, arms outstretched, grabbing the vial and continuing to run, run anywhere, anywhere but here.
'I'm sorry.'
'But I don't want to die.'