Hugo's Garden

Hugo woke up with the sun that day as the first signs of morning began to peek over the hills, drenching his small cottage in a deep amber hue. The light reflected off the early morning dew like tiny, twinkling eyes. They looked like they were laughing at the sun as it crept higher into the sky. The anticipation for that day’s events had led to a largely sleepless night for Hugo and now, as eager as he was, he could barely coerce his body to keep pace with his mind’s enthusiasm. Hugo shook the remnants of last night’s dreams from his head as he begrudgingly forced himself to get up. He made his bed meticulously, smoothing down the edges of his quilt until it lay flat against the mattress like saran wrap. He fluffed his pillows and straightened the edges of their plain white pillowcases, once, twice, three times. The faint smell of his lavender laundry detergent wafted through the air as he shuffled his bedding around, sprouting delicate flowers from the sheets and spilling soil onto the bedroom floor. He tilted his head to the side, making sure everything was even and in place. Everything had to be perfect today.

Once satisfied, he trudged down to the kitchen to make himself breakfast. Hugo decided to forgo his daily cup of coffee and toast, instead making himself a smorgasbord of fresh fruit and vegetables from his garden. Although he spent most of his time in the garden, Hugo rarely enjoyed the fruits of his labor. Instead, he let the produce decay in the garden. He found that their rotting flesh created quite an excellent fertilizer for the new generation of crops. With help from his father, Hugo had tended to and grown the garden by hand. Plants that used to be weak and struggling to live began to thrive under their care. Wilted flowers soon sprouted beautiful blossoms and runty vegetables flourished, growing bigger and bigger with each passing harvest. Hugo fought to stay awake as he ate. He slipped into a dreamlike state as he sat at the table, his feet planted firmly on the ground beneath him. A dull buzzing noise echoed in his ears, fading in and out, like whatever was causing it was pacing back and forth. His head was empty like a blank tape as it rested on his hand. All he could focus on was the noise. It made his skin crawl in the most delicious way. He savored it greatly. Just as he could feel himself slipping away, a loud thump outside broke him from his trance. Startled, he jolted awake.

By the time Hugo reached the door the investigate the noise, the paperboy was almost out of sight as he pedaled away on his bike. The bright sun that had roused Hugo that morning was nowhere to be found, diluted behind the heavy rain clouds that hung suspended in the cool morning air. Everything looked dreary, but he didn’t mind- it was his favorite kind of weather. The sun would come out from it’s hiding place that afternoon, just in time. It would help him grow big and strong. He wandered out onto his lawn, taking a moment to enjoy the smell of fresh rainfall as it lifted him up into the clouds. He floated there for a moment, relishing the softness of their skin against his body. This was the last time he would feel their delicate touch, but it would be worth it- where he was going was so much better. He exhaled slowly, taking a final moment to enjoy the utter emptiness he felt then as he drifted back to Earth.

Being sure to grab the newspaper on his way in, Hugo made his way back to the house. He wiped his feet on the doormat once, twice, three times, and immediately tossed the paper in the trash before going to wash the dishes. He scrubbed them until the sink was nearly overflowing with bubbles and his hands were painfully red from the hot water. Hugo inhaled deeply, letting the rising steam envelop him. As the smell of lemongrass and sage filled his lungs, their white and purple flowers blossomed in his chest and intertwined themselves around his ribs and sternum. They knew he was coming. He opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to let go of the moment. Reluctantly he emptied the sink, feeling the flowers shrivel inside of him as the bubbles swirled down the drain. Soon, he promised them.

Hugo lugged himself back upstairs wearily, barely able to keep himself upright.  His body felt heavy, as if he had turned to marble overnight and was forced to drag himself around with all the weight and none of the strength of stone. He took solace in the knowledge that soon he would be as light as a leaf on the wind. He took a long shower, fogging up the mirrors and filling the room with the cloying scent of cherry blossoms. By the time he emerged, a thin layer of the delicate flowers had blanketed the floor like freshly fallen snow. They filled every crack of the peeling walls and were matted in his tangled brown hair. Hugo took a fresh towel out of the linen closet, and fell into the comfort of lavender once more as their buds danced atop the wilting pink petals on the cold tile floor. He imagined himself to be 1 inch tall, jiving with the fragrant little flowers, twirling and swirling and dancing all around the room, his hands interlocked with theirs. Soon, he promised himself.

Venturing into his bedroom, Hugo began to ready himself for the big day. Although he was normally not one to dress up, he knew he had to look his absolute best today. He pulled his father’s suit out of his nearly empty closet and held it up. He furrowed his brow- the suit was much too short for his lanky legs and absolutely reeked of mothballs, but it was the nicest outfit he owned. Hugo put the suit on, doing his best to ignore the flurry of mothballs that swarmed around him as he slipped into the ratty ensemble. He bent to put on his shoes, tying and re-tying the laces of his cap-toed oxfords once, twice, three times. On his way out of the room, he stopped and stood in front of his vanity, forcing himself to look at his reflection. Staring back at him in the mirror was the shell of the man he once used to be. His dark brown eyes that used to twinkle like stars when he laughed were glazed over and bloodshot, sunken into his face by the ever permanent shadows beneath them. His skin was sallow and pale, no longer boasting the rosy cheeks that once lit up his face. His angular jaw that used to make girls swoon now just made him look sickly, and his lips were cracking and dry. Growing up, Hugo had always been considered handsome, but looking at his reflection now he was thankful that he no longer resembled any part of his old self. Since he was little, he had been told everywhere he went that he was the spitting image of his father. The pair shared the exact same dark eyes, and the same sharp nose, and even the same laugh lines around the same full lips. After his father died, Hugo learned to avoid mirrors. He couldn’t look at his own eyes without seeing his father's looking back at him. When he spoke, his father's voice would echo in his ears. Every time Hugo saw his face he sunk a little deeper into himself. He couldn’t bear to look at his father anymore, and now he didn’t have to. He had become someone else. Something else.

Hugo made his way back downstairs to a small room near the back of his house. He still couldn’t believe how normal it seemed from the outside. Looking at the plain white door with its peeling paint, no one would ever guess what was behind it. But Hugo knew. He took the rusty key from the pocket of his pants and unlocked the door. Hugo braced himself on the doorframe, breathing heavily as the faint smell of rot filled his lungs. He fought to stay upright, but as he felt his vision fade and his knees buckle beneath him, he realized his attempt was futile. He hit the floor with a sickening thud.

Hugo woke up in the body of his former self with a strange feeling in his stomach. He did his best to ignore it, but as he cooked breakfast for himself and his father, it grew inside him like a seed. He forced himself to eat, despite his body nearly rejecting every bite of food he put in his mouth. Harshly swallowing the last bite, Hugo rose from his chair. Plate in hand, he headed to his father's room to bring him his breakfast. As he made his way to the back of the house, the seed grew into a sapling, twisting in his stomach. He fought back the urge to vomit. With shaking hands, Hugo reached towards the door handle and slowly turned the knob. Immediately, the scent hit him like a brick wall. To say it was vile would be an understatement. It was something truly unfathomable, like hot garbage, rotten meat, cat piss and a million dead rats all mixed together in one revolting concoction. A flower bloomed inside him, leaving him no time to think before he was completely overcome with nausea. The plate fell from his hands and shattered on the ground, sending glass in every direction. Hugo dropped to his knees, retching violently. In that moment, nothing existed but the smell. It permeated all his senses, taking over his entire body as he crouched on all fours. Sweat dripped down his brow from his tangled hair, stinging his eyes as his barely digested breakfast pooled beneath him on the hardwood floor. It lasted for what felt like forever. Just when he would think he was done, another wave of nausea would hit him and he would start up again until there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. Finally managing to lift himself off the floor, Hugo leaned against the wall for a moment to regain his composure. As he wiped the bile from the corner of his mouth, he stared blankly at the scene in front of him through blurry eyes. On the couch, amidst a pool of his own fluids, lay his father. In books they make tragedy seem so peaceful. They describe the deceased as serene, almost as if they were sleeping, but there was no mistaking his father’s body for that of a resting man. His bloated corpse had already begun to turn a sickly purple color and his back was arched permanently in rigor mortis. Vomit encrusted his lips, trailing down his chin and onto his already stained shirt. The light behind his once shining eyes had gone out. They now bulged out of his head grotesquely, a hazy sheen covering them like a veil. With a hand over his mouth, Hugo took a few steps closer. A swarm of bot flies clouded around the body, darkening the air. They enveloped Hugo, drawing him close to his father.

The rest of that day was a blur, only snippets of it visible to Hugo through the fogginess in his head. His father's body had been so heavy. He remembered dragging it out to the garden, leaving trail in it’s wake. He would later scrub the floor intensely for hours, but the discoloring never fully came out. It stained the wood a dark brown- an ever present reminder of that day. Hugo had laid on top of his father's makeshift grave for hours, motionlessly watching as the sun set behind the house. He fell asleep in the garden that night. His father slept below him, 6 feet under the freshly turned soil. He was now a part of the garden he had loved so much.

With a gasping breath, Hugo woke up. For a moment, he was lost, still straddling the line between consciousness and dream. His heart raced in his chest as he fought to bring himself back to the present. Hugo lay on the floor, the cool tile providing some much needed relief against his febrile skin. A fly buzzed around in his hollow head, stuck behind the window panes of his eyes, desperately looking for an escape. It banged into his skull once, twice, three times, it’s dull humming slowly crescendoing into an irate roar with every collision. Frustrated, it took a sharp dive down, catching in Hugo’s throat. He managed to dislodge it with a harsh cough, spitting it’s twitching body into his outstretched hand. After a moment’s pause, he briskly crushed it between his thumb and forefinger, watching it carefully as it’s guts oozed out. The buzzing stopped. Hugo steadied himself on the wall as he raised up off the ground. He hesitated for a moment, standing in the gaping mouth of his father’s room- an unexpected gateway to his past. A sea of empty beer bottles littered the wooden floor. Their labels were illegible through the layer of grime that masked their glass faces. Cobwebs hung from the the corners of the room, illuminated brightly by the sunlight that shone through the uncovered windows. Everything looked exactly how it had 20 years prior- a perfect tragedy frozen in time. The same stench hung in the air like a thick fog, diluted only by the sweet scent of mildew and passed time. Hugo swallowed back the bile that began to creep up his throat. He walked around the perimeter of the room, his fingers skimming over every surface and leaving a clean trail behind them as they gathered dust. When he reached the couch, he stopped. There, from the tattered and stained fabric, grew a single calla lily. It’s beauty was a stark contrast to the otherwise filthy room. Hugo plucked it gingerly, twirling it between his fingers as he studied it intently. He always found it fascinating the way death brought about life. He reminisced for a moment, remembering how the same flowers had grown so beautifully from his father’s grave. Letting out a lengthy sigh, Hugo pocketed the flower. It was time. All that was left to do now was to say goodbye.

Making sure it was locked behind him, Hugo left through the back door of his house. He stood and stared at the building. He felt a pang of sadness inside him. This house was the only place he had ever known. Every memory he had with his father was inside that house. Every Christmas, every birthday, every scraped knee and bloody nose. This house was his everything. As he stood, he could feel the grass beneath him tickling his feet with long, scrawny fingers, as if to beckon him. It was time to go. With one last lingering look at the house, Hugo turned and began towards his new home. The walk was long and with every step he could feel himself growing weaker. But then he saw it. It had been weeks since he had visited. He had wanted to make sure that this day was special, that they would be ready for him. And they were. They seemed to know what was coming as they looked at him with hungry eyes, waiting to taste what they had been waiting so long for. Their vines and roots reached towards him longingly. One by one, he said his goodbyes to his friends, giving each bud and petal a delicate kiss. He whispered sweet nothings to the daffodils and made promises with the daisies. He shared a moment of laughter with the fern and confided his secrets in the carnations. He wanted this moment to last forever, but he knew it couldn’t. As he lowered himself into the ground, he whispered his final goodbye. He was ready. The first mouthful of dirt came as a shock. He fought the urge to spit it out. The heavier the weight pressing on him became, the lighter Hugo felt. As he finally succumbed to unconsciousness, one last thought passed through his mind. He would finally become one with the Earth, just like his father had 20 years before.