Weeding the Garden

I was weeding my garden. It was overdue. Weeds were suffocating the nutritious vegetation.  The life. Late into the evening I tugged on the root of a weed that wouldn’t budge. I yanked at it until the flesh of my palms rolled back and bled. I got a heart-shaped shovel and stomped on it, but the root was unharmed. This root needed to be dug out. I shoveled. Dug. Deeper. Ouch. That hurt. Kept digging until no longer was I digging a hole, but I was digging to escape, upwards. The root kept going and going and I kept digging and digging until finally, dirt fell on my face and I broke through to the other side. That root was a tree on this side and it cast a deadening shadow. It was the home of many evil spirits. They poured out of the hollow and slithered into my hole. I jumped in behind them and began falling. By the time I slowed down and started climbing, the spirits had plonked their rotten seeds in my garden. I was too late. Rain was in the forecast, heavy. I didn’t have a raincoat. I got caught in the flood and drowned.

Author: robert radKe

two nights after bj draKe died, robert j radKe was resurrected from the dead, involuntarily admitted and institutionalized and now frantically spreads light and melts crayons overtop of the smudgy grayness that bj draKe suffocated from his old, happy life.

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