SAMANTHA DE MESA

Chamber of Herbs

Moribund agapanthuses were lying in a sepulcher of buried, deteriorating corpses of poesies and cadences. A butterfly has sprung at the peak of the tomb; it sang Johann Sebastian Bach's melody euphoniously, resuscitating paralyzed and benumbed floret's bosom.

Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women, 

and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

The euphony of tunes awakened Ruth from her seeming heavenly sleep; Ruth rose and made her bed. A knot in her stomach sprouted as she headed straight to the corridor. A forlorn garden with a putrid smell of putrescent florets and corroded metals atrociously greeted her, and a squirm of worms caressed her toes. She sighed; the garden that used to be her grandmother's haven had gotten cataclysmal. As she sauntered around the garden, she found butterflies leaped at the agapanthuses; the pulchritude of the entities enthralled the twain of orbs beneath her arch.

A mellifluous cadence nonchalantly fled her snare, and insects accompanied her bewitching voice; the honeybees long secreted in their narrow hives have flapped their wings again and hummed a myriad of cacophonous sound as the butterflies serenaded the agapanthuses.

Holy Mary,

Holy Mary, Mary,

Pray for us sinners.

Ruth smiled. The moribund agapanthuses sprouted anew and beamed radiantly as the alluring dahlias took a glance at it, and the sun illumined the corroded metals luminously. The butterfly left the tomb and landed on Ruth's hand; it thereupon perched at the tomb and sang again.

"Now in the hour, at the hour of our death." The terribly hideous sound that escaped Ruth's mouth gradually turned into a melody as she sang along with the butterflies, and the florets swayed in impeccable bliss.

As the song ends, the florets surrounded her grandparents' grave, and the obnoxiously putrid smell of the garden was replaced by the dainty scent of the white flowers. The euphony of Johann Sebastian Bach's oeuvre and her mesmerizing voice enlivened her grandmother's haven. She took a deep breath and said, "Now I fathom wherefore thou sought solace in thy chamber of herbs."

Samantha De Mesa was born and raised in Dasmariñas, Cavite. Being an ardent prosaist, she professed herself to be a descendant of arts, with literature and arts piquing her interests. She is currently a junior high school student.