Tony sat on the edge of the brook, bare feet in the water, tugged at slightly by the gentle current. A large hole had been blown clear through his chest but he still swayed back and forth. He watched the minnows swim circles in the clouds of blood billowing in the water. His own gun sparkled down among the green pebbles. Some twigs snapped behind him but he didn’t turn to see. He swayed and stared. The trees lost their dimension and became sharp black veins silhouetted in the rosy pink sky.

You ain’t a farmer, a voice said from somewhere in the wood behind him. Tony’s right hand made a twitch toward his empty holster. Ripples in the brook reflected the sunset and the empty white sky above.

A kid sat next to him, arms hugging boney knees. A farmer would have done run away a long time ago. The kid spat into the water. Hey, is that your gun? The kid looked at him. Can I have it? He stared at his white feet in the water. Hey, are you dead? The kid leaned in, peering. You ain’t dead. But that’s a pretty big hole. What are you gonna do about that hole?

The kid waded into the water and then submerged for a minute to lift out the nickel-plated pistol. This thing fires good?

Just then a cloud of crows flew overhead, crying their bitter cries and the kid pointed the gun at them, pulling the trigger repeatedly CLICK CLICK CLICK.

I’m gonna let this dry out, he said, and turned toward the forest. He looked back at Tony’s motionless body, feet still dangling in the water. CLICK!

Tony’s eyes moved, following as the kid found his way up through the brambles, finally disappearing among the trees.

He thought he heard the kid singing in a distant, high-pitched voice. Then it was quiet.

You are considered a threat to the status quo and the British Government has every intention of… Extinguishing you…

All I do is grow flowers in my greenhouse. How could I–

It’s not the flowers, Mack. You know that.

They’re just daisies. Of course some of them are very rare…

The British government couldn’t give a shit about your daisies. What they care about is–

I know! I’ll go to Morry’s store and get some baby powder. That’s what this one needs.

You’re not listening, Mack! They are going to kill you out here!

No, you’re not listening Sandra! Have you ever heard a flower grow?

BAM BAM BAM!! Mack was flung by the impact, doing what looked like a slow-motion cartwheel, white robes and blood spinning through the air and then ultimately settling on the slate tile. Sandra stared, hands gripping the edge of the table to keep her knees from giving out.

You didn’t have to do it here… With all his plant friends to watch.

Where was I supposed to do it? Slate’s easier to clean Sandy. What was all that bullshit about the British government?

I couldn’t help it. I was trying to get him to think about something other than daisies for once.

It wasn’t working.

I had to warn him you’d be coming.

Well, Amanda lifted Mack’s shoulder revealing a lake of blood underneath. He went quick enough. She gently rested his shoulder back on the slate. You comin’ with me?

Sandra looked down to her hands still gripping the edge of the table. Slowly, she relaxed and let go, pushing herself to her feet. You’re such a fucking bitch. She walked down the isle between the tables of daisies and out through the open greenhouse door.

Amanda looked at the gun in her hand. Placed it on the table beside some pruning shears. Ran some water in the plastic basin sink. Washed her face. And went out through the same open doorway.

Mack’s dead eyes stared at a column of tiny ants making their way from one of the flowerpots to a half-eaten pastry that had been knocked to the ground. The ants were working as hard as they could to satisfy their queen.