Buried Alive

I’m the loner. The one the neighbors see, but look away, afraid I might speak. That is if they even see me at all. Apparently, I am invisible to society. I blend. I am neither describable nor memorable. Oh, but the things I do are talked about all around town.

Occasionally, I go into the city to get more supplies. The shovel in the bed of my truck might get a glance from the well-dressed PTA mom, but she doesn't give it a second thought. I speak to no one, but daydream of the night to come. Sundown provides the perfect opportunity for my work. The temperature is cooler then, and darkness provides a cloak from peering eyes. To be discovered would bring an end to my guilty pleasure. The anonymity is part of the thrill.

In my sparsely furnished home, I close my eyes, sipping a tall glass of lemonade, thinking of my lovely ladies, the ones who have truly pleasured me and the ones yet to come. Pictures of those who have felt my talented hands adorn the otherwise bare walls. Soaking in their natural beauty, I relive the feel of them on my fingertips. The control breathes a Godlike sense of superiority into my simple life.

They are always silent, accepting their fate. At times, I can almost hear them begging to experience me. Each succumbs, realizing they are nothing without me. The power grips my body sending chills of anticipation of what nightfall brings. Together she and I will create magic; miracles few in this world have touched.

Tonight it is Lily. She is my prize, already waiting, preparing herself for me. She awaits tied down in the bed of the truck beside the shovel covered carefully with the tarp. Each breath she takes belongs to me, for I am her master. She is blessed that I have chosen her. It wasn't a decision I came by easily, fore they all seemed to be screaming out to me. Yet, I am merely one man. The others will have to wait; their time shall come.

The park will be Lily's final resting place beside the others that have shared time with me. It has been awhile since I have visited my ladies. The ground has been unyielding, not speaking to me. But April is here, making life spring eternal. No doubt my patience shall be rewarded in the beauty of our love.

The ride is unhurried, though my adrenaline is racing. The park is deserted, as I knew it would be. No one appreciates nature’s nightlife as they should. Oh, but Lily will. We are alone in our Eden. Trees with blooms on them decorate the path. The moon shines eeriely, yet beckons. In the air there is a smell reminding me of childhood times. Times when life was simpler. The peacefullness of the perfection that exists here creates goosebumps. An image teases my mind. I, as a young boy, picking my mother a dandelion as if it were a prized rose, watching her place it carefully behind her ear. I miss those moments of innocence. Yet, I find comfort in the work I do in honor of the memories.

The hole does not have to be deep. She is small, so pure, merely a baby. I admire her beauty as I carefully place her in her grave. She is so delicate, so perfect. I almost hate to cover her. A tear slides down my cheek as the last bit of dirt covers my precious Lily. She is better here. Mother would approve of my choice. A beauty such as her belongs with nature. It is because I love her that I must do this. She must be buried alive for the cycle to continue.

For I am the Secret Garden Man. They come for miles to admire the beauty of the flowers in the park, having no idea who tends the magnificent tulips, amaryllis, roses, and lilies. Visitors take pictures and speak of miracles. Smelling the flowers, they allow themselves to be swept away by the scent of innocence. Yet, they are too busy to contemplate the care that must be taken with each seed, each bulb that I place so carefully into nature's bed.

They never see me, but they see my gift of life, my gift of nature. They, too, love my ladies, my flowers, my lilies.