(Children`s fairy tale)

In a bright green valley, covered with sharp trees, stood a house. A small garden and a tower for observing the stars adjoined the house. The man who lived there was a hermit. Society was alien to him. That is why he settled on the farthest edge of the valley – next to the Great Pit. Legends spread about the hole that seemed scary and bottomless. People believed that many years ago a city lay there, the beauty of which cannot be described. Nevertheless, one day the Sparkling Stone fell from the sky and the town got crashed into the ground. Sometimes the Hermit stood at the cliff and painted live pictures, looking at the foggy lowlands and splendid skyscapes. Darkness reigned there and only sharp rocks protruded from it like sharp and scary teeth. However, the Hermit did not lose heart from the dreary sight. He lived every day and lived for himself. At night, he looked at the stars, in the afternoon he grew his fragrant garden. And not a single living soul was nearby. Only a silent pit and a whist wild wood.

One similar morning, the Hermit stepped into his garden, scented with amazing aromas. A few days ago, he planted a strange seed that he found in a deep forest. That day, the seed sprouted into something beautiful – White Bloom, flickering and bewitching as if it were the brightest star. The man could not stop looking at the flower. Magical rays danced in his eyes. He painted pictures and composed poems about White Flower until the sun touched the distant mountains. The flower shone in the night like a shimmering torch. Tired of the long day, the Hermit fell asleep, leaning on the fence of the garden and then it happened… The fog covering the Great Pit began to tremble. Something dark was rising from the depths. At the moment a black hand appeared, as long as a scaly snake. The Hermit did not notice how black fingers clasped on the stem of the flower and the luminous light faded out for a moment.

The day woke up and with its dawn stood up the Hermit. He fell to his knees when he discovered the loss. His lovely garden lost the most beautiful flower, White Bloom! But where did it go, where did it disappear? The Hermit threw an evil gaze towards the deep abyss. A heart framed by sorrow told him where White Bloom had gone. Stumbling and cursing, he went to the edge of the cliff. Down led uneven steps carved out into old stones. The Hermit was determined, he stepped down with trembling legs and the fog parted before him.

The light left this world with every step. Ghost mushrooms and cold stalagmites decorated the walls. The Hermit did not slow down, descending to the bottom. After many hours, his foot touched the black floor. The sun hid behind a damp fog, the only light coming from a lamp that a man took with him. Before him rusty ruins lay. Dark houses in which pale shadows hid. Once it was a bright beautiful city… but now it was a dump of crashed stones and poor souls. The Hermit walked forward, looking out for his flower. He saw its light in the main square, at the ruined fountain. When a man came closer, pale creatures ran away from him in fear. Even some hairy giant covered with darkness stripes hid behind an old statue.

The Hermit scolded the poor people left in the Great Pit. He carefully picked up his White Bloom, and the light flashed again in his eyes. He already wanted to leave, but then loud crying stopped him. The Hermit turned around and was confused by what he saw. Pale men gathered in a crowd and cried hopelessly with deep grief. Their sad faces, their tragic eyes, begged a man to leave a flower. They said that it was the only thing saturated with the sun seen by them for many years. Their bodies were so drained without light.

The flower began to shine with all rainbow colors in the hands of the Hermit. The man looked around at the underground people and a strange feeling touched his heart. He never shared anything with anyone, never gave and gifted anything. But now he couldn’t just leave. He thought about his airy rooms, crammed with paintings and books. He thought about his ever-blooming lawn and garden. He looked around again at the dim city drowned in darkness.

The Hermit took the small hand of a pale child and put a flower in it. The kid smiled pleasantly as he had never smiled. A warm, soft light touched his skin. The Hermit looked kindly at all enchanted people.

“Take this one for you,” he said.  “I’ll bring you more…”

The intuition did not deceive him. Next day one more White Bloom flourished in his garden…