So, this is just completely random and out of the blue, whipped up in less than an hour. I took this almost word-for-word from this:
img1. joyreactor pics/ post/ funny- pictures- auto- joke- plant- 383611. jpeg
I love StumbleUpon.
Antonio sighed wearily, a disappointed frown on his face making him look every one of his sixty-two years as he sifted his fingers through the soil of his garden plot.
Hard as a rock.
He looked mournfully at the gardening supplies beside him, the little hand-rake and watering can and packets of seeds. A sudden spike of pain in his hands made him wince, sharply reminding him of his age. Damn arthritis. He was in no condition to be digging up a rock-hard garden. His thoughts briefly went to his son, Lovino. Lovino would have loved to help him dig the tomato garden. But he was in prison- wouldn't be out for several months yet at least. No way he would be able to help him with the garden.
Sighing, he slowly rose to his feet once more and gathered his supplies, slowly making his way back inside.
Well, there was always crossword puzzles.
ooooo
"MAIL CALL!" a burly prison guard called. "MAIL CALL!"
Lovino casually lounged in a plastic blue chair, his body language that of someone who couldn't give less of a damn, but his ears strained for the sound of his own last name. Finally, like always, they came to the bottom of the stack.
"VARGAS!"
The petite Italian rose and casually accepted the letter, taking it back to his table. He received and sent a letter to his father every Sunday, but he still treasured this simple correspondence with the only family who still gave a damn about him, barely containing his impulse to rip the envelope open.
Dear Lovi, How are you? Well, I hope. I am feeling pretty sad because it looks like I won't be able to plant my tomato garden this year. I'm just getting too old to be digging up a garden plot. I know if you were here my troubles would be over. I know you would be happy to dig the garden for me, like in the old days. Love, Papa.
Hazel eyes grew distant, the young man unable to help imagining his sunny father sitting wistfully by the window, staring sadly at an empty and barren tomato plot.
Slowly, said eyes narrowed in thought.
ooooo
Antonio yawned as he shuffled out to his mailbox, flipping it open and withdrawing the sparse contents. Advertisements, newspaper, magazine subscription... a letter from Lovino!
A smile breaking out on his face, he eagerly opened it, the smile slowly dimming as his eyes scanned the words.
Dear Papa, Don't dig up that garden. That's where the bodies are buried. Lovino.
ooooo
The next morning, Antonio stood on his porch in his bathrobe, watching FBI agents tear apart his garden plot. They had been at it for several hours, but so far had found nothing but earthworms and dirt. Eventually, the chief agent admitted there was nothing there and had all the soil put back.
"Sorry for the inconvenience and disturbing you, sir," he apologized, Antonio just smiling brightly. It wasn't in his nature to be angry at other people, especially when they were just doing their jobs.
As they drove off, the mailman came up, tipping his hat to Antonio in a friendly fashion and handing him his mail. The brunette raised his eyebrow when he noticed another letter from his son among the paper. Shrugging, he opened it. As he read this one, his smile only grew, until it was as big and as bright as the sun itself.
Dear Papa, You can go ahead and plant the tomatoes now. That was the best I could do under the circumstances. Lovino.