• Eyes of steel, he scanned the bodies that slept breathlessly beneath his frame. The wind whistled silently through slumbering trees as the stars above twinkled ominously upon the developing scene below. Dragging his feet slowly across the dew-kissed grass, he picked up the first body and tossed it precariously onto the flat surface of his garden. Using bloodied fists, he piled loosened soil onto the body until it was nothing but a mound. Once finished with the remaining bodies, he walked rigidly to the back of the lot and took up an electric tiller in which he used to grind the bodies into a flattened surface once again. The sounds of crunching silenced, he retreated to his noiseless home. He slept peacefully as his cultivated garden grew; each body growing with fertility as time moved on. The night soon turned to day as the sun rose above the horizon, emphasizing the dampness of upturned soil.

    “I sunk thirty-plus bodies last night,” he said to the store clerk as he purchased new gardening gloves.

    The store clerk nodded as she placed the gloves into the hands of the man, unquestioning to as why he purchased a new pair each day. “I heard Old Annie sunk a near one-hundred,” she said subtly as she watched the man ponder over her words.

    “I see,” he replied between his teeth as he retreated outside where the sun shone as bright as the street’s dirtied occupants. He spied the streets viciously, aiming for his next victims, eying them and taking note of each and every detail.

    “Perhaps the Blondes?” he paced the street in search of the beautiful flowers. He noted a few with hardened skin that sparkled with a keen attractiveness. However, with the one and five he spotted, he was unsatisfied.

    “They are beautiful, but their fruits are bitter,” a girl said, scrunching her nose.

    “I know, the Red-heads will be the most fruitful,” he grinned at an intended pun. He
    searched and searched until he found the ripest of the fiery beings, their bodies shaped to perfection, their breasts light and tender.

    The young girl laughed, pointing to an ample Red-head that sat cross-legged on the ground near them. “I think that one had a bit of a fall.”

    “Or perhaps the Raven-haired?” he said after taking note of the other bodies. His eyes scanned the streets once more, this time in search for the roundest and sweetest. Flicking his tongue and tasting the air, he decided on the sweetest of the Raven-haired, consulting the girl once more.

    “Those are the best Raven-haired that I see,” she said, still searching for her own bodies as the man plagued her with questions.

    “Brunettes, brunettes, brunettes,” he said copiously, scanning the street for the roundest and most fertile of the dark haired brutes. He spotted one and ten -- the fattest of the brunettes – yet he remained unsatisfied.

    “Not those ones,” the young girl said as she herself continued to wander in search of fertile bodies. “Perhaps that one is more fertile,” she said pointing to single Brunette across from them.

    Ignoring the girl, the man retreated to his home beneath the boysenberry tree after striking his victims. He looked out over his garden, noting the scent of lilac upon the air as bluebirds fluttered lightly within the treetops. He spied on his bodies, taking in each and every detail of their succulent frames. He had chosen the Brunettes, as they were the most abundant. Their bodies piled as high as his neck as every last one tumbled beside him.

    “Thanks, Charley,” he said to the man driving the truck.

    “No problem, these bodies ought to bring the whole town to their knees,” the man said gruffly, pulling his door shut, his diesel truck rumbling loudly as he pulled away.

    Getting to work right away, he walked toward the bodies, shovel in hand, and tossed the bodies by threes over the fence into his garden, leaving them there to ripen in the noon day sun. Once all but one of the bodies was in the garden, he picked up the very last one and drug it into his home.

    The man chose a small pot from his cupboard and produced a small cutting board from a drawer. Whistling, he placed the body upon the cutting board, first cutting out the sparkling, hazel eyes and placing them within the trash. He vigorously scraped at the sockets until they were clean, and used his knife to dig under the Brunette’s skin, exposing her inner organs as they glistened in the dank light of his home. He scooped up the tissues of skin and threw them into the trash, taking up the organs of the girl and tossing them into the small pot of boiling water.

    Soon lunch was over and the man once more in his garden, laying out each body evenly over unturned soil. The bodies had begun to rot, and their stench almost unbearable to his nostrils. Working quickly, he mounded each body until his bloodied knuckles and aching back began to throb from the labor.

    Dragging his feet slowly across the dew-kissed grass, he retreated to his noiseless home as he finished his final row. He slept peacefully as his cultivated garden grew larger; each body growing with fertility as time moved on. The night soon turned to another day as another sun rose above the horizon, emphasizing the empty shadows of the seedless garden.