I went to the conservatory, thinking it would clear my troubled mind. It was an opportunity, as I saw it, to line up my thoughts into their proper, respective places.

How wrong I was.

The foreshadowing of my dissatisfaction came when I saw the number of visitors at the entrance. They lined from the reception desk to the conservatory's doors of entry. I counted five heads (which were five too many for my liking), yet foolishly assumed that there would be no more within the conservatory itself.

At first, the visitors gave no interruption to my amusement of the conservatory. Rather, it was the noise of the conservatory itself which scrambled the precious thoughts I'd hoped to set in line through this visit.

A roaring waterfall had imposed itself at the rear of the main conservatory room. Its deafening static flooded my dear mind as it droned on and on. There was no difference between the waterfall's torrential downpour and the white noise harboured in my mind. Thoughts rushed to me all at once, then vanished as soon as they came. With each dying thought, one would reincarnate, then kill itself faster than its predecessor.

Through this section of the conservatory, a pathway looped around a pond and sneak through a cave behind the waterfall.The opposite sides of the loop were joined together by a bridge in front of the waterfall.

Before deciding to hide in the cave, I positioned myself in front of the waterfall, rested my elbows on the handrail of the bridge, and closed my eyes. I drew a nickel from my pocket and put all of my concentration into finding a wish.


I was sick of making that wish.

I had gone far too long without it being granted to me, despite every time I placed my heart and soul into a wish for she who will complete me. I had grown to be so longing for love, that the idea of love sickened me almost as much as my own existence does so.

I drew in a lungful of air, wished for that which I so vehemently hate, and tossed the nickel into the white noise of pouring water.

The coin made no sound.

It disappeared just as soon as my wish.


"Conservatory" (which doesn't actually have a real title) was written after I went to - where else - a conservatory. It was written as a sort of "journal entry," where I just talked about how I felt while I was at the conservatory. The one thing I hate most about this one is the bullshit that I wrote at the end about love. I was longing for love when I wrote this, and I still am today, but seeing myself write about it is really cringe-inducing. Regardless, it is what it is, and I honestly think that this is a nice short story.

I don't remember if I wrote this before or after reading The Things They Carried, but this story does remind me a little bit of the chapter, Speaking of Courage. I wouldn't be surprised if I subconciously based this short story off of that.