~~~~((~~~((@ THE ROSE GARDEN @))~~~))~~~~

From the memoirs of Chiba Mamoru, as re-told to Pandora Diane Waldron


"Mystery glows in the rose bed, the secret is hidden in the rose." --Farid ud-din Attar, 12th Century Persian poet.


"True, I talk of dreams,
Which are the children of an idle brain,
Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,
Which is as thin of substance as the air,
And more inconstant than the wind, who woos
Even now the frozen bosom of the north,
And being angered, puffs away from thence,
Turning his side to the dew-dropping south."

"This wind you talk of blows us from ourselves:
Supper is done, and we shall come too late.

"I fear, too early: for my mind misgives,
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despised life closed in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail!..."

from Romeo and Juliet, Act I, Scene 4, by William Shakespeare.


My novel, The Rose Garden, is dedicated, with love and sincerity, to England's Rose, Princess Diana, born July 1, 1961, (one day after Princess Serenity's birthday, June 30th) and who died tragically in a car accident August 31, 1997. Unlike Princess Serenity and Prince Endymion, though, there is no reincarnation for you, at least, we may not know where and when your spirit will be reborn. Your soul indeed is encased in crystal, and we outside the radiant beam of your love for so many in this world, will take a long, long time to heal. The white lily of the resurrection be your guide to where you will always belong, in our hearts. And many are the roses in your garden, silently awaiting your return.

May you too, in a brighter world, awaken again to love.

And also, to my tiny rose, Princess in our hearts alone, my baby Rhiannon Roxane, born February 1, 1997, died suddenly, March 4, 1997, apparently of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS).


Scarlet petals from a summer rose are scattered in whorls around your still unmarked grave, marked so far only by my words, and tears. Some day I will do honour, my Rhiannon, to the place where you rest. For now, my thoughts travel across time and space, and are always and forever with you, with your sweet smile that lighted my heart, your little arms that reached to stroke my cheek.

You are sadly missed by your big sister, Myrna Marion, who watched Sailor Moon with you, by your dad, Brian, and by me, your still grieving mother. My love for you, Rhiannon, and my bitter despair at losing you just as we'd all grown to love you so much, is written between every line of this story, for those who have eyes to see.

In loving memory to all who have loved, and lost.


Pandora Diane Waldron

CHAPTER 1: The Nightmare

He was in the grip of nightmare again. The same one, but tonight, so intense, he could almost smell the burning fumes of destruction and death in the air. He was back in the moon kingdom again. And Queen Beryl had won. Pain, searing pain, how can I bear this pain....and then numbness, a floating sensation. The pain, why did it stop? What does this mean? And suddenly, I can see HER--down there. She is crying, screaming, I hear the despair in her voice.

Her voice that I would know again, would listen for, in a room crowded with a thousand voices, all talking at once. As I have. Walking across those vast ballrooms in the moon kingdom, yet always, I was able to find her, unerringly. Just follow that voice. Like radar--no, telepathy, between us. When did it start? I don't know. Maybe the first time I looked into her eyes. And felt something change in me forever.

All these things I am remembering, as I am floating, weightless, feeling light-headed, semi-conscious. And all at once, my head clears. And I know why she looks like that, why she has sunk to her knees on the ground, as if her legs will not carry her anymore.

I am dead. That is what has happened, why I no longer feel pain. Oh, No, No, my Princess, my Serenity, don't do this. PLEASE!! You, so young, so beautiful, so dear to me, you MUST go on living. You MUST.

But she cannot hear me. She hears only the voice of her own despair and grief. Oh God, she sounds so alone. And now I cannot hold her in my arms, I cannot even touch her. I can't bear it. I can't bear it. The pain I felt when Queen Beryl killed me, it was nothing to this. And if I could hold her, just for a moment, could I stop the tears? When she knows I am dead, that I can never come back, that things will never again be as they once were?

I feel a bump, and something cold and hard underneath me. In the darkness, I feel around me. I'm on the floor AGAIN. Always at this point in the nightmare, I seem to thrash around, without knowing it, as if I were fighting every enemy in the universe at once. Anything, anything to deaden this pain I feel. I hate everyone, and everything, because of what she is suffering, which I feel with all my soul. And that's when I fall out of bed, and the cold floor wakes me up, drenched in cold sweat.

So now I stumble back into bed, shaking out the tangled covers that I have twisted into knots. And get back under the blankets, shivering. But I know the nightmare will come back, just where it left off. It never ends, before I have experienced and re-lived all of it. Damn, why did I have to get ALL my memories back? I was happier without remembering THIS.


PLEASE GO TO CHAPTER 2: Bitter Regrets


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