It was the first time I went around my dear little garden.

As I woke up in the morning I had jitters. All the time, I had spent getting the best seeds, setting the water supply, mixing the fertilizers, getting them delivered on time, training the gardeners. And finally the day had arrived. All my sleepless nights would finally pay off.

I drove into the fields dreaming of the beautiful utopia I had so long spent building. The scorching sun was already trying to rinse my spirits.

Finally, my car drove up to a small field. I heard sounds rattling the air. I could not wait to run in and feel the shade within.

I was amazed. This could not only be my garden, I wish I could slosh the blood out of whose it was. "This wasn't mine!!! This could not be mine!!" My existence tried to console myself. These were carcasses playing about with their defecated ruins. Yet the seeds, the clogged up water supply seemed to remember me, and so did the earth wretched by the gardeners.

And yet the carcasses seemed to love me. They came and clung on,

Thank you, they said.

When are you going to visit again?

When are you building other gardens, asked the care taker. I must say they have a place to play!

We must do this again and soon.

I came back, collected the ruins. The stench was still there. Beautifully framed it and set it on display. Then the others came with the same phrases:

Thank you.

When are you going to visit again?

When are you building other gardens asked the care taker. I must say they have a place to play!

We must do this again and soon.