My Garden
This is the story of how I was murdered. As a girl, a lot of people came and went from my life. I was born to a farmer in Mississippi. My father was very ill and passed away only a couple of weeks after I was born. Momma moved in with my grandmother who also passed away before I was old enough to remember her. We lived in a total of seven houses by the time I was nine. I did not have any friends. Plants were my friends, the way they grew and curled, faced the sun with their bright green leaves. Soon I was about to lose my friends, I wish I had known, I could have prepared.
The night the tornado hit was just like any other. I was in my garden picking tomatoes and cucumbers. The potatoes weren't thriving like usual, they had a fungus …show more content…
I turned fourteen a week after their wedding. By the time I was seventeen aunt Betty had a two year old son named Tom. I loved tom more more than anyone, including my boyfriend Bill. Bill and I had been together a couple of months, a year after graduation I married Bill and we moved to a poor community while he studied to get his degree as a lawyer.
The community was scary and sketchy, I never left home alone. The town had no grass so that meant no garden. The neighbors had nine kids and three dogs, all living in a tiny shack the same size as the one I lived in. My husband spent days working and nights at school. 15 hour days, seven days a week. He spent his free time with his buddies, leaving me home alone most nights.
I spent my days making crafts and growing flowers inside, selling them for cheap, trying to save enough to buy a camera so I could have pictures of my kids. I have no pictures of my childhood.
By the time Bill had finished school. We had Lauri and Violet, twin girls at the age of two and another on the way. We had made plans to move that weekend into our five bedroom home that sat on twenty seven acres. There was three fenced areas. One, the garden, two, the play area and three, the …show more content…
There was screaming and swinging. Violence was not the answer. Bill hit me hard, knocking me unconscious. I had a dream I was laying in a garden, I awoke and I was, Bill had shot himself and laid beside me. I called an ambulance but it was too late. Bill was pronounced dead.
I moved to a small house, made of stone and metal. There was a side porch overlooking a waterfall. The front had a brick walkway with plants on either side. The house itself was perfect for one person to live happily. I had chickens and goats and cats. I was able to live off the land. I made money by selling the plants, goat milk and eggs. Grant’s wife, Doris made me fresh bread every week. The grandkids would bring it on a saturday and spend the kids helping Nona.
I woke up one morning with an awful headache. I had, had a dream that my mother was murdered. It was very vivid, like a memory, not a dream. I spent the next week having the same dream and the headaches got worse. To the point where I went to the hospital. They said I had a brain bleed, had it for more than a year, impossible because people do not last more than two days. They told me there was nothing they could do about it, did not know how long I had. Annoyed, went