I never thought of myself as anything special. Just a regular kid living in a small town, surrounded by ordinary trees and boring houses. That was, until I stumbled upon it—a strange, iridescent stone buried beneath a gnarled root in the woods behind my house. It pulsed with a faint glow, as if it had a heartbeat of its own. Intrigued, I dug it out, feeling a tingle shoot up my arm as my fingers brushed against its smooth surface.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed, the stone tucked under my pillow, my mind racing with thoughts. What if this rock had powers? I imagined it could turn me into someone extraordinary, someone who could change the world. But a nagging feeling in the back of my mind warned me: be careful what you wish for.
The next day, I decided to test it. I stood in front of my backyard, holding the stone tightly in my hand, and thought about what I wanted most. I wished for a garden—one that would flourish like no other. As soon as the words formed in my mind, the air around me shimmered. The ground trembled beneath my feet, and before I knew it, vibrant flowers exploded from the soil, their colors so bright they seemed almost unreal. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I had done this. I was a creator.
But soon, I noticed something strange. The flowers whispered to me when I was alone, their voices like rustling leaves. They spoke of secrets, of hidden places, of a world beyond the veil of our own. I shook it off as my imagination running wild. After all, I was just a kid with a peculiar rock.
As days turned into weeks, my garden grew larger and more elaborate. I wished for vegetables, fruit trees, and even exotic plants from the farthest corners of the globe. Each time I made a wish, the stone glowed brighter, and the garden transformed, but a chilling sensation crept into my chest. I didn’t just create a garden; I was reshaping reality itself.
One afternoon, I invited my best friend, Jenna, over to see my creation. She stepped into the garden, eyes wide with amazement. “This is incredible!” she exclaimed, touching the petals of a glowing flower. But her touch seemed to activate something dark within the garden. The flowers trembled, and a wind whipped through the leaves, carrying whispers that sent chills down my spine.
“Maybe we should head back inside,” I said, trying to mask my anxiety. But Jenna looked entranced, drawn deeper into the garden as if it was calling her name. I felt a sudden urge to protect her, to keep her away from whatever darkness I had awakened.
The next day, I woke up to find my garden had changed again. The colors were more vibrant, but there was something sinister lurking among the petals. I felt a tug in my chest—a compulsion to keep wishing, to keep creating. Each time I did, the garden became wilder, almost sentient.
Days passed, and I could hardly keep track of the changes. Animals began to roam the garden, too. At first, they were harmless—chirping birds and buzzing bees—but then the creatures became larger, more aggressive. A squirrel with fur like shadow stalked the edges of the garden, and a hawk circled overhead, its gaze fixed on me. I knew I had crossed a line.
One evening, while I sat outside in a daze, the stone pulsating at my side, I noticed something on the horizon. The trees were shifting, bending unnaturally, as if they were being pulled toward my garden. I ran to the edge of my property, heart racing, only to find that the trees were now uprooting themselves, inching closer to my home. Panic surged through me. I was not just changing the garden; I was altering reality, and now the world was responding.
Frantically, I wished the changes would stop. The stone responded with a blinding flash of light, and for a moment, everything fell silent. I blinked, and when my eyes opened, I was standing in the middle of the garden, but everything was different. The flowers looked malevolent, their colors twisted into dark hues, and the sky above had turned a sickly shade of green.
Jenna appeared at the edge of the garden, but something was wrong. Her face was blank, eyes wide and unseeing. “Jenna?” I called, dread pooling in my stomach. As she stepped closer, the whispers of the flowers grew louder, drowning out my voice. I realized then that they were calling for her, beckoning her to join them.
I dashed toward her, but as I reached out, she vanished into a mist, leaving nothing but the echo of her name hanging in the air. I screamed, a sound swallowed by the growing chaos around me. The garden began to churn and twist, the ground shifting beneath my feet as if it were alive. I realized with horror that the artifact had not only transformed my surroundings—it was consuming my friends, my life, and everything I held dear.
In a moment of desperation, I made a final wish: I wanted it all to end. The stone glowed fiercely, and I was engulfed in a whirlwind of light. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back in my room, the stone lying innocently on my desk, untouched.
Relief washed over me. I thought it was over, that I was safe. But when I looked outside, I saw my garden—only it wasn’t mine anymore. The flowers danced in the wind, and shadows flitted between the petals. In the distance, I could hear a voice, soft and inviting. “Come play with us…”
That’s when I realized the curse of the terraformer wasn’t the power to change the world; it was the price of wanting to create in the first place. And I had unwittingly become just another whisper among the flowers, forever drawn to the darkness that was once my garden.
