In the beginning, there was only you and I.

I was the only thing your long dead garden could attract. No plants, no grass, no buildings. Nothing. Just broken pinball machines, fog, and cartwheels sticking out of the dirt, a sorry shrine to the past. All of them driving the snootier pinatas away to seek better shelter.

Except me.

Upon my arrival, you instantly dug into your pocket for a few chocolate coins and ran to Willie's, anxiously turning your head back during your sprint to check if I was still there; as if I would run away from your awful garden. I didn't. I awaited your return for a few minutes, risking the talons of a Sparrowmint if I didn't have shelter soon. Speaking of the Sparrowmint, it wasn't it that arrived second in your garden. In fact, it was another of my kind. Another Whirlm, nothing special about her, comes roaming into your garden and decided to stay. And by your orders, your love candy, you made us one. Did I want a wife, a soulmate? No. But I followed your orders anyway. That is the true mark of how much I trusted you. I believed, even in only knowing you for a few minutes, that you would make only the best decisions for me, for the garden. After the house was built and the night fell, the new Whirlm and I, now new lovers, helped populate the garden and brought you an orange egg. From this egg hatched our son, the first baby pinata you'd ever seen. I guess, upon seeing the small, orange worm, you thought it was time to populate the garden even more with other pinatas, and for that, you needed money. So, my old friend, what did you do to start your glorious garden?

You sold my newborn son.

Without hestitation, without a pause, he was gone, and you held one hundred chocolate coins in your eager paws. It was when I began to loose trust in you, and it is the problem with you gardeners. You think that it is alright to sell the children of your pinatas; it won't matter, we're just bits of paper and candy, what can we do? We never say anything. We never mention you taking our children from us. How could we? You would of mashed our heads in with a shovel on the spot. See, at this point, you were getting greedy. It was not enough to have a humble garden with a few pools of water and a few simple creatures inhabiting the place. No, you demanded an animal kingdom with expensive houses, the rarest of flowers, perhaps even the legendary Dragonache to boot. Factories where you could milk Moozipans would line your garden; hark, you could just see it! You'd be a millionare! For that is the point of being a gardener, is it not?And in all your elobrate plans, there was no house for me, the simple Whirlm. Where would I be staying?, I asked politly. With greed shining in your eyes, you couldn't even bless me with an answer as you shoved me and my wife into a wooden box, along with a few thistles and poisioness plants. Here I sit today, in the box, with light shining through a single crack, awaiting for the new gardener to pick us up from the post office. My wife and I fear for the future. Will the new gardener keep us or sell us off? Perhaps we will become Sparrowmint food. Our hollow shells contain no hope (hollow, since it seems you forgot to pack food for us. Or did you want us to die on the journey, and rid the world of our presense?). The last time I saw your garden, it seemed to be flourishing. Rare flowers graced the ground, factories to milk Moozipans lined the borders, and I could of sworn I saw the legendary egg of the Dragonache, surrounded by a pool of water, sitting in the middle of your garden.

Have you forgotten who started you off on the road to fame and fortune, old friend?

AN: When I owned Pocket Paradise, I almost never left Whirlms out of my garden.

Never.