“Arrgh!” Silas taps his cool toned, dark, sepia-brown, pear-shaped head with the bottom of his palm. He stops, then sighs into his worn sketch book. He places it next to him on the park’s wooden bench. The sunlight shimmers onto his red basketball shorts through the tree’s leaves above. “I’ve done the research, but I still have no idea what to do with this logo.” He strokes his extended goatee for a moment. “This company has no goal or mission statement, but they’re picky about their logo. They give me no draft or anything. All they do is distribute random items in almost any industry. And the calls aren’t useful. I have to get this done. I hate unfinished work. This is driving me crazy.” He taps his head again. “I thought a change in environment would help. Still, after several days, nothing!” He stops tapping his head and takes a deep breath.

A movement caught his eyes. He faces the wall of tall, thick, bush, beyond the well-maintained concrete path that’s in front of him.

“Oh. Another one.”, he said to himself. He watches a young, pregnant woman in a filthy fast-food uniform, slumped and dragging herself beyond the wall with dull, lifeless eyes that carry dark, heavy baggage. “She looks like she could give birth any minute. Why is she working? Is she alone? I bet she’s not going to come out any time soon.”. Silas brushes a leaf off his white t-shirt that covers his roundish stomach. He turns his head to his sketchbook. He grabs it. “Draft number seventy-eight.”, he said, scratching the scalp underneath his black, buzz-cut fade.

After a few hours of drawing, he takes a break.

“I need lunch.”. His stomach growls in agreement. He looks at the wall of leaves. “I haven’t seen that girl come out yet.”. A gardener drives a partially weathered green and white UTV onto the scene. Fully clothed in his usual khaki and green uniform, the gardener nonchalantly drives into the area beyond the wall. The roof of his vehicle shields his cool, almond-brown skin from the sun’s steaming rays. “There he goes. And he’s with his usual long bag of mulch.”, Silas said as he glimpsed at the roughly five-six feet long, black, plastic bag lying in the UTV’s trunk. “He’s the only person that I’ve seen that goes in and out.”. Silas packs his things. “The way he gives that garden special treatment, it must be beautiful there. Maybe I should go there for inspiration. I wonder if it’s only for VIPs, or members only.” Silas starts to walk away. “Only a few people go in there once in a while. They stay there all day. That particular gardener. He goes in there almost every day with something, then comes out several minutes later. “I have to at least look in there. This is also driving me crazy. I always get bad vibes when I walk near it. Especially now-a-days. I need some answers first, just in case it’s something serious.”. His stomach growls voluminously. “I need food first.”. He walks past the mysterious garden, with eyes lingering onto its entrance.

The next day, he walks around the park, instead of spending hours of being sedentary on the bench. Periodically he asks people about the mysterious garden during his route. Along with putting sunscreen on his smooth skin, he dots down notes into his new notepad.

After a long while, he sits on his usual bench with his notes. He takes out his old sketchbook. “I need to finish this logo and get it over with. I could draw something simple and vague … but that’ll go against my principles. … But I need to send in something so my boss doesn’t crash out.”. Silas opens his sketchbook to a new page. He hovers his pencil a few centimeters above the paper for a minute. He looks up at his thoughts, then at the vibrant green, hedging conifers ahead. “Huh. Most people never notice that garden. It does blend into the park’s bushy barrier perfectly. Some people who know about it say it’s forbidden by the ministers, or they don’t care.”. He opens his notepad in his lap, covering his sketchbook. “Although, there are a lot of rumors about demonic people living there. As well as suicidal people going there to finish themselves, and that gardener makes their graves. That would explain the constant big bag of … well I guess it was dirt. Wow! According to my memory, the people who go in, are almost always sad and depressed looking. Other than the gardener. He’s an oddity.” Silas twists his mouth, looking up aslant, and tapping his notes with his blue pencil. The suicidal thing does make sense. I can’t believe I didn’t make that connection before.”. Silas writes in his notepad. “Depressed people are so weak.”. He sneers. “All they do is cry and throw pity parties. They’re not productive members of society. How pathetic. Good thing I’m not weak like them, and I have value.” He emits a forced chuckle. “I can handle anything.” He rests his notepad in the space next to him, revealing his sketchbook, opened to a blank page. His weak smile drops. He sighs.

The day after, Silas remains in his small two-bedroom apartment. Sitting at a brown, melamine, industrial style, work desk in one of the bedrooms, he reviews his sketch notes. Suddenly, his phone rings.

“Good morning Mr. Tugmen. I’m almost finished with this sketch.”, Silas answered. 

“No need to finish it. It has been two weeks. I’m putting someone else on the project. This is a high paying client. I really don’t want to lose this one.” 

“What! But sir—” 

“I have enough of you. You take too long to complete each project. I don’t know why the last executive who worked here didn’t fire you yet—”

“Because I put the maximum amount of effort into each project—” 

“I don’t want to hear it. You work remotely. I know for a fact! You’re not taking your work seriously. You’ve been slacking off, doing nothing.”

“No sir. It takes me a little while to complete designs because I have to do research and implement the company’s morals and personality into every drawing.” 

“Excuses, excuses. I don’t want to hear it. We’re competing with AI, they can come up with a sketch in seconds.” 

“What about my success rate? That’s proof that the research I do is important and provides better results.” 

“Silas you’re fired.”. The air around Silas becomes heavy. His voice starts to crack as he continues to speak.

“I have been working for this company for years. I did nothing but create my best work for this company. Please! This is my dream job. I don’t know what to do if I get fired. Please!”, Silas begged. Mr. Tugmen laughs.

“Good day Silas.”. The phone hangs up. Silas’ body solidifies as his eyes cement onto the computer’s screen.

For the past several hours, he slouches in his home office’s chair, staring at his blank, sleeping computer screen with his blank, inexpressive eyes. His phone dings. Leaning forward, he reads the message from his mother. It reads, ‘Hey Sil. Just checking in on my productive child. Your big sister is at it again. Her crochet business failed and now she is depressed. I told her she needs to be like you, be a productive member in society and stop with these little businesses. I don’t know what to do with her. She’s not like you, you’re strong and have something to offer. I can’t wait until you get your first promotion. It should be anytime soon, right? Text me back when you’re free. I love you’. Silas slams his back into his chair, looking back at the empty computer screen. 

“I can’t believe it. This was my dream job. Now that dream is over …” Tears bundle in his eyes, but never pass his eyelids. “I worked there for so many years. I don’t know what to do with myself.” He tilts his head back, allowing his aching thoughts to drain to the back of his head. He sends a reply text reading, ‘Hey mom. Wow! Sounds like Sasha needs to get some help. I’m doing great by the way. Love you!’. He tosses his phone onto his desk. He hits his forehead with his palm. He shouts, “I can not be weak. I’m not pathetic!”.

Days have passed by. Silas hasn’t come out of his unit since that call. He plays another match of a first-person shooter game on his workstation computer in his messy, homely home office. He pauses his game. He grabs his phone.

“I’m starving. Thank Gleam I have an emergency fund.” He checks his food delivery tracker. “I don’t need help. I’m not weak.”. He then holds onto his mouse. “I’m tired of living like this. I can feel my eyes throbbing.” He minimizes the game, revealing his home screen. The background is a picture of a cyborg anime woman flying through space with stylish rocket boots. Overlaying that picture are collections of labeled, yellow, file folder icons, and a variety of drawing and photoshop app icons. His eyes suddenly lock onto the secret garden file. He sneers. Just as he’s about to delete it, he glances at his design folder. Silas double clicks it and looks through his past work. For the first time in days, a genuine smile graced his face. “I still remember why I wanted to do digital design. When I was a kid, no one would talk or listen to me. But when I drew, everyone paid attention. Everyone appreciated and understood me. I wanted to help people communicate and express themselves through my designs. … Seems like that dream is over though.” He lets out a big sigh and turns off his computer. 

The next day, Silas walks out the convenience store with a case of cheap, canned beer and a gallon tub of chocolate ice-cream. He drives down the congested road that harbors the building of his old job, under the pinkish-purple sky. He pulls down his light-gray sun visor to block the raising sun’s bright light.

“I wonder if I can beg for my job back. I could give them a presentation they won’t forget, displaying my best work and my average star rating. This new boss, Mr. Tugmen would have to hire me back after I show him my contribution to the company. Yeah. Yeah! I’m getting my old job back!”. Silas quickly drives home and puts together his presentation.

After noon, Silas leaves his house wearing business casual attire, carrying a jump drive and his laptop. As he drives into his old job’s parking lot, he spots the gardener from the park walking towards the side of a medium sized, white, green and blue, one story, rectangular building. Silas looks at him for a moment with a raised eyebrow, then continues on.

He goes into his old office and asks to see Mr. Tugmen. He was turned down due to Mr. Tugmen not returning after his lunch break. Silas goes back out and sits in his white sedan while pressing his palm to his forehead with tightly closed eyes. He lets out a groan. Just as he opens his eyes, he sees the gardener again.

The gardener drives away in his beat up, outdated, dark green coupe. Silas quietly trails him to the park. Silas parks his car at the normal parking area, and watches the gardener go behind the authorized personnel fence. Moments later, the same gardener drives out on his UTV with a long bag of dirt. He narrows his eyes.

“I need to figure this out.”

Silas goes home and reviews the garden file on his computer. After hours of researching, he mumbles to himself.

“I have to see for myself. I need answers. I must figure this out.”

In the thick of night, just before midnight, Silas returns to the park. He goes into the empty field that’s lit with solar power light poles that stand along the concrete path.

“I’ll just walk past the entrance to hear if things are happening. I can’t get in trouble for walking past. I’m a bystander. Just … standing … by. With nothing better to do.” Silas looks off to the side as he walks past the concrete path. “I’m not a productive member of society. I’m weak like them, aren’t I? What am I even doing here.”. Silas unknowingly reaches near the garden’s barrier. He ceases walking. “I couldn’t keep a job I was good at. I’m pathetic.” He starts to hit his forehead with the bottom of his palm.  “I don’t want to be weak.”, he said between each strike. All of a sudden, a warm feeling of security wraps around him like a weighted blanket. A cloud of serotonin covers his body and mind, giving him a slight boost in energy. Silas looks up with dull eyes. He smirks. “I feel kind of good right now.”. Silas hastens to the entrance made with leaves shimmering in the moonlight. Suddenly, the warm feeling disappears and his energy lowers, as well as his smile. Out of nowhere, a hand grabs his shoulders.

“What are you doing here late at night? Why are you trying to go in here? What are you? Police? Vandal? Boy if you don’t leave, I’ll—”

“Hold up! Wait! Stop! I was just walking by.”, Silas said, shielding his face from the gardener’s glare. 

“Why you here so early?”, the gardener questioned. Silas’ eyes dart around.

“I— I … I had a rough day. I needed to walk.” Silas lowers his hands and looks off to the side.

“What got you down son?”

“I got fired from my dream job, and I don’t know what to do. I would work all day and night for that company. I had the best ratings and they still let me go. I tried to get my job back, but the boss wasn’t there. I don’t know what to do. I’m so pathetic.” Silas slouches out of the gardener’s grasp. The gardener lowers his hands.

“No you’re not. You’re important and valuable. Even if they don’t notice it. Your work ethics and the customers you make happy are proof. Why did they fire you anyway?” Silas sighs.

“Probably because I couldn’t finish a project for a high paying client. I put in a lot of time and effort to research them to create the best logo, which was really hard. But my boss only cares about getting it done, instead of providing quality work that expresses the company mission statement. It goes against my principles.”

“Did you ask for help?”

“No, that’s for the weak.”, Silas stated. The gardener arches his eyebrow.

“No. What! How?— When you ask for help, you’ll get solutions you might have never thought about.” 

“But it’s my responsibility.”

“Sometimes your responsibilities can get overwhelming. A little help won’t hurt. You think I can maintain this park by myself. No freaking way! Even though I’m the best gardener, I still get help. Even though they’ll never be as good as me. As long as you get the job done, and show appreciation to those who did help you. You will be fine.”

“Huh, I never thought about it that way.”, Silas said, stroking his overgrown extended goatee. 

“Besides son, it sounds like you need to be an independent worker. That, or you can work with another company that appreciates your standards.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks.”.

Silas drives home with thoughts darting around in his head. Eventually, he finds himself sitting in front of his desktop. He stares at the blank screen for a moment. “All I ever wanted was to work for that company. I loved to brag about working for them. But I think I can be independent.”. He turns on the computer and looks for freelance work online until he falls asleep in the dead of night.

Silas wakes up in the middle of the morning. He moves his mouse around, waking the sleeping screen. He yawns and scratches his lower back. 

“So, this is the site I settled on. Alright, let’s get to it.”. He clicks his mouse. “What the hell! I have to fill all this out.” Silas groans. “I don’t know if I can do this. ... I’ll just have to try.”

In the late afternoon, Silas finally finished setting up his freelancing account. 

“I took longer than I was supposed to. I hope I set it up right. This has to work, I’m running low on funds. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if I run out of money. I can’t ask anyone for funds.” Silas begins to hit his head with the bottom of his palm. “This is my fault. I need to be strong and fix my own problems.” Silas stops hitting himself. He sighs and gets up. “I need a break from all this stress.”.

Silas drives to the park and looks for the gardener. He walks around carrying a half a case of chilled cans of beer in a violet drawstring bag.

“I need to thank him. I honestly didn’t know what to do”. He walks around the park looking for his buddy. About an hour later, he finds himself by the entrance of the secret garden. “I can’t find him anywhere.” Silas faces the entrance without that warm or that uneasy feeling he had in the past. “He wouldn’t mind if I waited there. We’re chill now.” Silas enters.

Beyond the wall of evergreen yew, there is a large soundless field of luscious, vibrant green grass. The field has sporadic, circular lots filled with scentless, colorful flowers, grouped by the same taxonomy family. There are daisies, roses, orchards, nightshades, Irises, narcissuses, tulips, cyclamens, mints, pansies, daffodils, anemones, and lilies, of almost all colors and species. Randomly placed are different types of wooden arbors covered with their own distinct species of fully matured and managed vines with no fruit. Also randomly placed are dissimilar species of flowering and non-flowering bushes of all sizes. In the middle of the garden is a ring made with several, widespread stone benches. In the center is just grass, and a single flowerpot with a beautiful, blue columbine flower in it.

Silas looks around with eyes filled with astonishment and a mouth ajar. 

“This place is gorgeous”. His lips suddenly shut. He looks around, as his body stiffens. “It’s that uneasy feeling again. It’s like someone wicked is watching me.” His whole body quivers. Silas scans his surroundings. “Huh? Where are the bees and butterflies? I thought they liked all flowers.”. A breeze rolls over him. “This is the only area in the park where I can’t hear any birds. Weird.”. He slowly makes his way to a well-maintained stone bench. “What the—” Silas looks down at his pollen covered white t-shirt and navy-blue sweatpants with confusion. “Why am I not sneezing? Is this hypoallergenic pollen?”. He dusts the greenish yellow pollen off, then yawns. He sits on the bench with his back against its back, slowly closing his eyes.

Silas suddenly finds himself sitting in the same garden. Except he is surrounded by nearly a hundred people wearing expensive business suits with scowls, standing where the flowers, bush, and vines were supposed to be. They all ask him for help, with clearly fake smiles. Silas stands and walks forward, looking around with wide eyes in silence. 

“Are you going to help us or what?”, one of the businesswomen voices shouted. Silas stammers for a bit. He clears his throat. 

“H-help you with what?”, Silas asked. They all answer at the same time, but not in unison.

“I am a trapped spirit. You need to get me out of here.” 

“Who trapped you all?” Some of the spirits roll their eyes. They answer. 

“By the gardener. He did this.”

“Why would he trap all of you?” All the spirits make a face. Some with a glower, and others with a glare. They answer. 

“We don’t know.” 

“How did he do it anyway?” They begin to growl. One by one, they aggressively voice their discontentment. 

“Are you going to help me or what?” 

“You’re wasting time.” 

“You idiot just help me …” They continue on for minutes. 

All of a sudden, they all fold their lips into their mouths with widened eyes staring at the space next to Silas. Silas’ heart unexpectedly leaps out of his chest as a loud gasp fills his lungs. Fully awake and standing a few feet away from the stone bench, he whips his head to the side. Next to him is the gardener cussing him out. Silas looks around. 

“Why are you here?”, the gardener asked with his slanted eyebrows drawn inward. “It’s dangerous here. Are you stupid!” 

“Hey, chill old man. Get your hands off of me.” Silas shrugs the gardener’s hands off his shoulders. 

“Get out!”, the gardener shouted, pointing at the garden’s exit. 

“Hey what the f—” Silas’ face becomes twisted. “I came here to see you.”

The gardener continues to row Silas. “I don’t care! You need to leave.” 

“But I came back to thank you for the chat we had. I even bought you some beer.”

“I’m not listening, you need to get out now.”

“I bought beer. I have them right here. I got like a half a case.”, Silas said, lifting his violet bag. The gardener points at the exit more aggressively. Silas takes a good look at the gardener. His gardening uniform is covered with plant matter and red liquid. 

“I said, get out!”. Silas looks at the gardener’s twisted face, with a glare. “Fine, I’ll leave.”, Silas said, rolling his eyes. Silas leaves the scene and goes home.

Sitting in the sunken seat of his polyester cushion of his black sofa, Silas hunches over, staring at the living room’s light blue wall. 

“What’s going on in that garden? I thought I fell asleep on the bench. How did I end up standing? I was standing in the same place as I was in my dream. Unless it was a hallucination.” Silas looks at his drawstring bag filled with beer cans. “Was I drinking too much? No.” Silas drags his hands down his face. “What was that … vision about? So random. And they said … the gardener. The gardener! Why was he covered in red stuff? Was that blood? Maybe he does make graves. That’s why he’s so protective of the place. But there were no gravestones. Huh.” Silas turns on his thirty-two inch TV that sits on top of his simple, dark wood and black steel tv stand. Immediately, a picture of his boss titled, ‘Missing Assistant Art Director” appears on the screen. The reporter’s voice filled the room. 

“This isn’t the first time a person with a high position in a company has gone missing this year. Business leaders are starting to take in concern. But the employees that work under the missing managers and executives feel indifferent. There has been speculation that the worker union has been playing a part in the disappearance of their boss. There are a staggering number of reports about the missing managers, directors, executives, and even CEOs who have been mistreating their employees before their disappearance.”, the reporters said as the screen displayed the pictures of the missing people. Silas eyebrows shoot up as his jaw drops. 

“Those are the same people from my vision. They are spirits! The gardener might be a threat after all. I should call the police.” Silas snatches his cell phone from his back pocket. Just as he types in the number, he pauses. “What am I going to tell them? A gardener took down executives and the only lead I got was a vision. No one will believe me. I need evidence.”, he said, looking out the window, at a bee landing on the tip of a red flower from a bush basking in the evening sun.

Under the darkened sky filled with flickering stars, Silas creeps to the garden entrance in his black t-shirt and joggers. A deep crimson light starts to emit from the other side of the evergreen wall. He kneels and peeps in. In the center of the field are three squares overlapping each other. One is tilted twenty-five degrees to the left, and the other tilted twenty-five degrees to the right. Inside that shape is a flower made with forty triangle petals, and three circles in the middle. In one circle is the gardener. In another is the potted blue flower from before. In the last circle is a man Silas recognizes. Silas leans in, focusing his view. He gasps. 

“I was right about the gardener! That’s Mr. Tugmen!”, he whispered to himself. Suddenly, Mr. Tugmen, an average looking, warm toned, latte-brown man with dark brown, textured brush back hair with a low taper, glares into his eyes. Their glances locked for a moment. Silas turns around. His eyes dart around as he secures his back against the evergreen yew wall. “What should I do?”. Silas mentally lists out his pros and cons for several moments. He takes out his phone. “But do I really want to help him? The guy who ruined my dream.”. Silas peeks into the garden again. His eyes widened. He snaps back around. “He’s gone! As well as the plant.”. 

Silas peeks again. The symbol slowly disperses into the grass. Where Mr. Tugmen was kneeling, only his suit remains. No body, no undergarments. The gardener gathers the suit and puts it in his UTV, then gets in. Silas runs to the far end of the wall and lays in the moist grass filled with now singing crickets. The gardener drives to the authorized personnel area of the park. Silas follows. After a while, the gardener gets into his coupe, and departs. Silas shadows him in the dimly lit empty roads. He follows him to five different clothing donation drop off bins, and watches him give each one an article of Mr. Tugmen suit. The gardener then drives to a small, simple, cottage style house with peeling navy blue paint, that’s not too far away from the park. After lingering around the dark house for an hour, Silas drives back to the park.

He goes into the garden. He sneaks around looking for his ex-boss. Greenish yellow pollen begins to flutter through the chilled air. Silas yawns. Shaking his head he speaks to himself. 

“No! I can’t fall asleep now. I almost have the answer. If I solve this, this will be one less thing on my mind.”. Silas stumbles around with a longer, wider yawn. “No, I must figure this out.” He begins to vigorously rub his heavy eyelids. Suddenly, a vine from a nearby arbor wraps around his ankle. It pulls him to the ground. Silas lands on his backside with a thump and a groan. He peeks at his ankle. As soon as his eyes meet the woody tendrils, it slowly begins to grow thorns. He hurriedly grabs on to the vine and tugs on it. The spikes get sharper by the second. They bore into his thick jogger. The skin on his palm starts to get snagged and pricked on the thorns. Silas begins to groan as the vine’s grip tightens. Just as the vine breaks the skin on his leg, he takes out his semi auto pistol and shoots it. The woody vine reabsorbs its thorns and loosens its grip with a masculine scream. Red liquid seeps from the tear caused by the bullet. Silas crawls back on his butt and hands. He lifts up the leg of his pants. He inspects his stocky leg that’s filled with many tiny puncture wounds budding red. He holds his leg, rocking back and forward.

All the flowers in the garden unravel their petals as the moonlight caresses them. Dark yellow pollen masks the area. Familiar voices creep into his ears. Silas squeezes his leg tightly for a moment until the pain subdues. He gets up.

“Augh! You piece of trash!” 

“Mr. Tugmen?”, Silas said with an arched eyebrow. 

“I know you hired that witch to get back at me. When I get out of here, you’ll be sorry!” 

“What?”. Another voice enters the conversation. 

“Oh shut up. This idiot had nothing to do with this. The gardener did all of this on his own.”, the male voice said. 

“What!”, Mr. Tugmen's voice shouted. 

“Why would he do this to me? I don’t know the weirdo.” 

“He’s a poor, low life gardener. People like him despise us for being successful. He plays in dirt all day, while we manage a business or a few on our own, on the regular.”, another voice replied. 

“Agreed. They have no idea how much work is put into organizing just one business. People like him don’t appreciate our hard work because we ended up successful. Pssp!”, an older male voice explained. All the other voices murmur in agreement. Silas scans the area with gaping eyes.

“Where are all of you? I don’t see anyone, just plants.”, Silas stated. 

“Oh my Gleam, how dense can you be? We’re the plants.”, a female voice answered. 

“What! I—I—I thought y’all were ghosts.” 

“I wish I was.”, said another female voice. 

Out of nowhere, the gardener emerges from the dark garden entrance. He observes Silas talking to the flora that’s leaning towards him, in silence. 

“I can’t believe the gardener would do this to y’all. He seemed so chill. He even gave me some good advice. How did he trap y’all in plants?”, Silas asked. 

“Who is he talking to? And how does he know about that?”, the gardener whispered to himself. An old female voice responds to Silas’ question. 

“Don’t be naive. People like him always do wicked things. Jealousy is a sickness.”. 

As the voice from the Anemone De Caen plant speaks to Silas, the gardener watches him staring at the silent plant with dull eyes. He looks at the plant, then back at him. 

“Is he talking to the plants? I didn’t know they could get this powerful. I thought they could only poison people.”. The gardener tip-toes closer in the moist grass. A large bush nearby leans towards him.

“Hey, why did you stop talking all of a sudden?” Silas slowly sways around. “Oh it’s you.” Silas farrows his dull, dark brown eyes.

“I didn’t know they could talk to you.”, the gardener said as pollen coats his clothing.

“Yeah, they do. And they told me everything.”

“You don’t understand, they’re evil.” The plants defend themselves.

“Liar!”

“He’s the wicked one.”

“He trapped me in here.”

“That gross man took away my body, just because he’s jealous.”

“No, that’s not true.”, the gardener exclaimed. The gardener suddenly tilts his head downwards holding it, as his eyes pop. He looks around, then looks at Silas.

“Don’t listen to him, kid.”, an old male voice said.

“He literally has us in plants while he’s walking around as a free man.”

“Look around you. The only ones trapped here are the bigwigs of a business.”. The gardener turns his held-up head. He drops his hands.

“Okay I know this looks bad, but that’s not why they’re trapped.” Silas scowls at him.

“It doesn’t matter what you say, this is wrong. Taking away people’s chance of a happy life just because their lives are better than yours, that's wrong!” The gardener frowns.

“Do you want to know why I trapped them here?” Just as Silas opens his mouth, the gardener answers. “It’s because people like them pick on the weak minded. They take advantage of people who are at their lowest. They like to ruin people’s lives and make everyone unbearably miserable because they get a good kick out of it. I mean, look what your old boss did to you. You have proof that you’re a great employee, but he still fired you.” Silas’ sight plummets to the ground. “What I’m doing here is saving the weak minded, the people who are down on their luck, the depressed. I have an adult son who is depressed and possibly on the edge of suicide, because of people like him. They are messing with people’s lives and their minds. The police don’t want to do anything about it. Trapping them in plants was the only option I had at the time. And me being a gardener is convenient.” Silas looks at him for a moment with raised eyebrows, he then turns to the flora behind him. He scolds.

“So, you're the wicked people.”

“Pssh, as if. Do you want to know our thoughts on this?”, one of the female voices asked. All the flora suddenly speaks, sounding like one.

“Humans are supposed to be the most strong minded animal in the animal kingdom. Getting rid of all weak minded people is doing our species a favor.” Silas arches his eyebrow. The plants continue. “The human race is doomed if we let this culture of being a sad sack of flesh, crying all the time, a thing. Imagine a society filled with people sobbing instead of doing something, or improving. I mean, what did you do when you were fired, Silas? I bet you spend days sulking, doing nothing productive. How weak.” Silas softens his expression and slowly looks down at his hands. The plants add on. “We need our bodies back. We can’t let our species go extinct because the only humans on this planet want to be weak and pitied all the time so badly.” Silas balls his fist and looks at the gardener.

“I’m calling the police on you. Your time is up gardener, and no one will stop me.” The gardener raises his palms.

“Stop, you can’t do this. Besides, what could they do? What would you tell them?”

“I’ll tell them that you're connected to all the missing executives. At one point, you had to make contact with them to get them here. And I’ll tell them about all the people that go in here and never come out.” The gardener twists his face.

“What are you talking about? I only capture persons that contribute to a large number of people’s misery.” Silas’ eyebrow raises.

“So what happened to all those random people?”

“Oh, we may have something to do with that.”, the plants said as they grew bigger. The gardener watches as the bushes, flowers and vines tower above him and Silas, blocking the moonlight.

“They’re getting more powerful, why?”, the gardener whispered to himself. The flowers block their path with new blossoms, leaves, and stems. The roots of the bushes prowl out the soil, making it uneven. Numerous aerial roots, holdfasts, petioles, spines and thorns, tendrils, and twining stems emerge from different wooden arbors, and creep towards them.

“No matter what you do to us, we will always find power. Even if you put our souls in plants, we will always get what we want. This is the true power of strong minded people. We can change the world around us at will.”

“I don’t understand. Why are they this strong!”, the gardener said out loud. Less voices answer, with less harmony.

“I make use of the weak-minded and turn them into fertilizer. My pollen can easily hijack their depressed thoughts, so they can be lured in with that comfortable feeling they were craving. Once they’re in, my roots do the rest.”. Silas looks at them with widened eyes.

“That's what I felt the other day. I’m weak?”, Silas whispered to himself as he looked at his shaking palms. “I’m weak.”. He begins to hit his head with the bottom of his palm with tightly shut eyes.

“Nooo! I put you in plants to avoid this.”, the gardener stated.

“Too bad. This is for the best anyway.”, some of the plants said in unison.

“No, it’s not. Everyone deserves the right to live. They may be overwhelmed, and need help from time to time, but that doesn’t mean you have to get rid of them. It doesn’t mean they’re not valuable. Everyone should have a chance to grow stronger, to mature, to find the best version of themselves, and express themselves. Especially during their bad times.” Silas stops hitting his head and looks at the gardener with watery eyes. One particular male voice speaks.

“And what if they can’t. They’ll just end up like your sister.” The gardener instantly twists his neck and glares at the gympie-gympie plant in the far corner of the garden. “Your sister committed suicide because she couldn’t handle stress from a little job, then got herself fired, even though her entire family depended on her. How unfortunate.” The gardener balls his fist and his jaw clenches.

“She was pushed to it because of you. You would constantly pick on her, making her life more difficult. You filled her heart with despair and fired her knowing how important that job was to her, to her family, just because you can.”

“I fired a lot of people. I doubt I fired her just because. I’m not sure who you’re constantly referring to. You just keep telling me I fired your sister and she killed herself. If you ask me, it's your family’s fault, having to depend on one nineteen year old.”

“Don’t you dare talk bad about my family. My father died, and our mom was barely making enough to sustain us. So, my sister started working as soon as she could legally. She helped provide for the family, and was planning to save for college. You drove her to do that. She never complained about providing for us. She just did it with a smile every day, non-stop. That’s why I trapped you. She was fine before you.”

“It’s not my fault she couldn’t handle the immense pressure you all put on her.”, said the gympie-gympie plant.

“Yes, she could. She did it before. She was just going through a rough patch that one time. If she was still alive, she would’ve been stronger than you will ever be.” The gardener scrunches his face with a smirk. “I’m going to whack you good.” As the gardener starts to jog to his UTV, his knees buckle. Sweat begins to exude out his pores. The same happens to Silas shortly after. On his hands and knees, Silas looks at the ground beneath him.

“Why do I feel so weak?” Just then, he spots a multitude of threadlike, white roots slithering away.

“You’ll never keep me down!”, the gardener cried. He crawls to his vehicle and pulls himself up with the trunk. Woody vines follow him. The gardener pulls out a weed whacker and starts it up. Its motor roars. All the flora leans towards him.

Silas watches the gardener slice through the moving stems and leaves of the nearby flowers and small bush.

“I can escape. They’re distracted.”. Silas crawls to the garden’s exit. He passes the gardener who's swinging his string trimmer like a sword, cutting vines and thin branches that shoot towards him. Blood from the plants splooshes left and right, accompanied with agonizing screams. By the exit, Silas watches the battle as he talks to himself. “I can’t believe it. All that time the plants were killing people. I can’t believe I almost side with them. I have to call the police.”. Sitting on his knees, he pulls out his phone. Out of nowhere, a kava plant wraps its thin, woody stem around him.

“What will you say? You’re an unemployed man fighting plants in the middle of a summer Wednesday night. You must be on drugs.”, a female voice from the plant said. The kava plant forces his mouth open with its branches, and shoves its leaves in his mouth. The plant then wraps around his mouth and nose. Silas vigorously scratches the bark, involuntarily chewing the broad, bitter leaves. Silas’ dull eyes slowly turn red. The world around him becomes blurry. The plant lets go. Silas falls onto his side as his pupils dilate.

“You’re a weak man. You couldn’t keep your dream job. You won’t survive long. You’ll end up like the others.”, Mr. Tugmen the planted, blue, columbine plant claimed.

“Don’t listen to them! You’re just going through tough times. Don’t let a few bad moments ruin the chance of having a good life.”, the gardener said, hanging upside down by several vines, a few feet above the ground, next to his weed whacker. Silas peeks at him for a moment, as his body begins to tremble. 

“They’re right.”, Silas said, holding his aching head. The gardener gasps. “I can’t call now.” The gardener smirks. “We must burn them first.” The gardener’s smile drops.

“No. We’re not doing that.”

“Let’s spray them with weed killer.”

“No!” Silas scolds the gardener.

“So, what are we going to do then?”. The gardener narrows his eyes, looking off in the distance.

“We are going to survive.”

“What!”

“I can’t kill them. I also don't know how to reverse the spell. I just did the first curse I saw online.” All the flora laughs. Silas turns his sight from the gardener to face them. 

“Why can’t we all live in peace? The people you call weak are here for a reason. Everyone has a purpose. I’m sure there was a point in all of your lives where you were down on your luck and you thought about giving up.” The vines holding the gardener gradually become limp. “Instead of picking on them, why don’t you all help them. Help them become strong minded as you. This way there are more strong-minded people to create a better world with.”. The vines lower, as it becomes thin. The plants voice their comments.

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear that.”

“Yeah.”

“Y-you idiot, we don’t care.”

“The weak mined job is to become fuel, fertilizer.”

“You’re talking nonsense.” The gardener’s eyebrows raised. The vines drop him. He lands on his chest, groaning. He immediately stands up.

“Yeah, what you're doing is hurting people. And not just them, but also their families. Imagine the one person you love was constantly getting beat down.”, the gardener said with a smirk. The plants continue to voice their thoughts.

“Shut up!”

“My father won’t let anyone beat him down. Even if he was, he would get back up again.”

“Both of my parents would do the same as well.”

“My grandmother who raised me has gone through tough times and still could accomplish her dreams.”

“What if there was a time where they couldn’t be strong? That one, awful time. Would you let them suffer?”, the gardener asked. The plants gradually shrink in size and density. Some of the plants continue to defend themselves.

“I don’t want to hear this.”

“Go away!”

“No body what’s to hear this.”

“Why are we talking about this?”

“You know picking on people affects your integrity. I’m sure at one point in your life you had morals. Where did it go?”, the gardener said with a malicious smirk. The plants shrink back to its normal size. Silas unsteadily stands up groaning, holding his stomach. He stumbles to the gardener. “For example, I volunteer at fundraisers that help children reach their goals. I also donate clothes to the unfortunate. Some people’s lives get turned upside down without any warning. Those people don’t deserve to get punished. Things can happen beyond anyone’s control. Like, how unexpected things happen to your business. That’s why I—” Silas holds the gardener’s shoulders. He looks at him.

“It’s over.”, Silas said.

The two sit at the bench under a tree, adjacent to the garden, beyond the well-maintained concrete path.

“Hey, do you want to get some beer?”, the gardener asked. Silas groans.

“No, I feel nauseous, and my mouth is numb.”

“I know a little shop nearby to get something that might help with that.”.

Sitting on the walking path’s edge of the convenient store building, the two chat away as the sky lightens in color.

“So that’s your plan?”, Silas questioned with his hand holding his slightly turned head.

“Yeah, an appreciation or venting garden. People would come in and express themselves as a way of a coping mechanism. The large amount of people sharing their feelings will weaken them. I might put up a huge boulder to give a sense of physical hope … or something like that.” Silas looks down at his feet.

“I didn’t know people would prey on others like that.”

“Yeah, they’re everywhere son. That’s why it’s important to have a support system and review your self-worth every now and then. Nothing is wrong about being weak for a moment. Just get help if you need it and move on with self-improvement.” Silas eyebrows raise as his lips drag down. 

“So, how did you know I was there in the middle of the night?”, Silas asked.

“I didn’t know you, in particular, was there. I just got an alert from my fancy battery power sensors that I hooked up there secretly. So, what now?”

“I'm thinking about creating my own support system. And starting my own business. I’ll be more open to help, and find someone who can make it look more professional. My digital design business will be helping companies express their goals and personality with my designs.”

“Wow. That’s impressive.”, the gardener said with a smile. Silas peeks at him for a moment and smiles back. Both of them then look up at the rising orange sun that's against the bluish-green backdrop.

“Oh hey, I did a thing. I was supposed to show you this logo design I did for you earlier.”, Silas shared.

“No way!”, the gardener exclaimed.