One day, God appeared to a gardener. He gave to the man a Golden Flower, tasking him to cherish it in his garden. The man agreed, and swore to God this would be the only flower he added to his garden in honor of the gift, unique among all of the bushes and grasses and herbs he grew.
The gardener watered the flower daily, and it's leaves reflected the sun and created a brightness around it that warmed the man's soul.
Then, one day, the man began to lose his bushes and grasses and herbs to death and disease, the changing weather, and bugs eating away at them. Weeds came among his garden, and began to take control, and in all of his efforts to control and save his garden, he neglected his duty to cherish the Golden Flower. Days of neglect became weeks, and then months, yet the flower stayed beautiful, save for a few dying leaves. These dying leaves disgusted the man, but eventually it was the glimmering petals that disturbed him; the still glistening glow it had after all the neglect angered the man, as he watched the rest of his garden, which he had tried with such intensity to protect, fall into decay.
In a moment, the man chose to wilt the flower that caused him this anguish. He cast it out of his garden and forsook his promise to cherish it forever. But after the flower was gone from the garden, darkness came over the garden, and the man fell into deep regret over his error. A mist came over his eyes and fogged his heart.
From the rubble, a demon, a feminine fusion of metal and flesh, captured his weakened heart with a music box, and swept him under her control. A force beyond his understanding broke him free from the hypnosis of the music box, and set him on a journey.
However, in setting him free, the man had become once again aware of the tragedy he had caused, and was visited by a second demon, one who wore his face, to remind him in every mirror and reflection of all that he had done. The man set out to rid himself of this, set himself free from these demons.
Years passed, and the demon of his reflection plagued him every day, and the man became a despondent vagabond. In his wanderings, the man was captured by another demon, who played for him a tune of his memories, bringing him to a land where he could relive every day he spent with his Golden Flower, watering its leaves and caring for its soil. He would spend a few days in loving memory, then seek escape through death. But no matter how many times he died, he always returned to the sight of his Golden Flower, a sight that caused him more pain each time he saw it.
Eventually, the man found escape. A door opened, through which laid a chasm, a bottomless pit which he floated through, enveloped in a cloud of smoke. The demon of mist and fog appeared to him, beside the demon who loved him. She told him they would never be rid of them, and that all the demons he has faced have sprang from his soul, carnal expressions of his evil heart that were set free with the wilting of the Golden Flower. She showed him where he truly was: his own soul, enveloped in the mist of demons. She showed him his mind, decaying every day, pieces falling out of his ears in slow dissolution.
The man was then brought back to reality, slow and ordinary reality. God appeared to him, and he begged to have his Golden Flower returned to him. God promised him redemption through patience. As the wheels of time continued on, he returned home, viewing his garden every day. The man searched tirelessly for his Golden Flower, anywhere in the world it might lie. Years he spent searching, his mind slowly being lost to the wastes of time, his body slowly decaying, yet his soul continuing to seek it. The search was fruitless. He prayed every day that God would return the Golden Flower to him, but received no answer, except to wait.
The man never dared to add another flower to his garden and break his vow to have the Golden Flower be his only. His garden eventually began to grow back, the bushes returned to life, the herbs and grasses began to sprout once more. Several wildflowers grew outside of his garden, but he cast them all aside, not to disturb the peace he had created.
Seeing his devotion, God appeared to the man after all this had happened, and extended out his hand once again. He told him the truth: he was not a demon as he had been told. Then, God ripped open the mans chest, pulled out his heart, and one by one began pulling from it, first the demon of nostalgia, second the demon of his reflection, the demon of misty eyes, and finally, the demon of metal and flesh. He cast them aside, and sewed up the mans chest. He then extended out to the man His hand, gifting him the Golden Flower, stitched where it had been ripped, and healed where it was wilted. He placed it where it had laid before, and guided the man, gifted the man with careful instructions on how to water it, nutrients to gift it, and how to protect it from the harsh winter that was coming.
The man learned, the man grew, the man was given redemption. He had shown himself to be now a man that could handle when a leaf wilted or a petal fell from its surface, and learned to water it faithfully. Scar tissue was no longer a curse, but imbued, a part of him he never knew he always needed. It was a beauty akin to ruins, cascading architecture, overrun by God's green fauna, a sight to behold; a unique beauty.
The day came, after many, many years, when the mark of time had begun to wear on the gardener. Wrinkles covered his decaying body, and he was barely able to keep up with his gardening duties. Yet still, day after day, he watered his flower. After all those years, God came back down from the heavens once more to visit the man, to take the Golden Flower from him. He congratulated the gardener for keeping the flower beautiful, and took it with him back to Eden. The man thanked the Lord for the blessing of watering its leaves and feeling its glow, and never added another flower to his garden the rest of his days.
If I am remembered for nothing else, let me be remembered for this.
If all my songs fade, let this tale be all that remains.