Every garden needs a caretaker.
In my human life, I was that caretaker.
Now, of course, I am a far superior being. But as a mortal, I was Garvin Gales, the cranky old ma n who tended to the flowers on the posh private isle off Italy's coast.
I was naïve as any flesh-walker when I was a young man. I married early, and my wife and I went through all of the pointless human mating rituals— we had a wedding, we honeymooned in Venice, and we bought our own home to "start a family."
This was before I realized my true calling, before I understood the position I needed to fill as the future father of the growth.
I took the job as caretaker a few months after my wedding. At the time it was meant to be a temporary employment, merely intended to keep the bills paid. But shortly after starting work, I realized how much the plants needed me.
The family who owned the isle was never there. If it weren't for me, all the greenery on that island would have died within weeks. I fed the little things, I helped them thrive. For once in my life, I felt important; I felt needed.
It was a tough commute to the island every morning— I had to take their boat out— so I found that I was more often than not staying overnight on the island.
The plants became my life. Every thought I had was of them, of their survival, of their success.
My wife, of course, abandoned me within the first year of our marriage since I was never around. I was sad, yes, as any weak mortal would be. Looking back on it now, however, I know that I made the correct choice. The plants were my children. That woman would never understand the complexities of the growth.
No longer attached to her, I was able to tend to my plants even better than before. The vigor that went into my work was no doubt unsurpassed by any other caretaker in Europe.
On several occasions, in those years after my marriage ended, I found myself wishing that I were a plant myself. Plants were simple. They were not weighed down by emotions like mortals were. This was humankind's weakness— emotion, feelings. An inexcusable flaw in the entire species.
Plants— they were dependable. If plants were tended to, given proper care, they would thrive. If not, they would die. It was so easy, such a consistent reality. There was no murder, no suicide, and very few illnesses to speak of. Plants were stronger, better than humans. Humans were the lesser species, and if they weren't so proud, maybe they would realize that.
I can't recall exactly how long I worked as the caretaker— perhaps about thirty years. By this point in time, I understood the superiority of plants. I understood how much more advanced than mortals they were. If only humans would realize this, too! But no— humans are, by nature, ignorant. All but me, of course— I was gifted my superior intellect by the growth. I understood where humankind stood in the universe's pecking order— below plants.
I've been rewarded for my loyalty to the growth, of course. Now, in my death, I am Undergrowth, father to all plants, caretaker to all the worlds' greenery! Yes, at one point, I was a mere human, but now I am so much more.
Now I have power. Power I didn't have as a mortal— a weak, foolish mortal.
I was about sixty when I died. It was the end of December— mere days after Christmas. Not that I cared. I no longer celebrated holidays like Christmas. They lost their appeal when you had nobody to celebrate with.
I'd spent the night on the island, of course. It was very early in the morning. I liked to awake at the break of dawn to care for the plants. It must have been about 5:30am when it happened.
I was going about my usual morning chores when the ground shook began to shake beneath me. My whole world throbbed with the energy of the quake. With a shout, I was thrown off of my feet, onto my side, all of my weight crashing onto my right arm, which immediately broke.
But I didn't have time to feel the pain— Italy was still shaking. I was thrown from side to side, my broken arm flailing around painfully as my body was tossed about.
Finally, it stopped.
Cautiously, I got to my feet, my knees shaking as I stood, cradling my aching arm.
I glanced around. The island had taken a bit of damage. Trees had fallen, and young saplings had been uprooted.
I glanced around once more, deeming that most of the damage was reparable. I sighed in relief. I would get my arm looked at later, yes, but for now, at least the plants were okay. Everything was fine now…
But then it wasn't fine. I happened to glance out at sea, and my eyes widened as I caught sight of the tidal wave.
It was approaching at a furious pace, growing exponentially as it soared towards me.
At its peak height, it was easily twelve meters tall. I gawked as my head craned up to see the wave that now cast a large shadow on the humble isle I cared for.
I screamed. The plants— the plants would drown!
"No!" I cried to the tsunami.
But the wave did not listen as it pounced on the island. The plants— they drowned.
I did, too, of course. I died. I was dead. I am dead.
But my death was a blessing. I've done more in my death than I ever could have in my life! I am the almighty Un dergrowth! My plants— I can protect them now! I am strong, powerful!
I am Undergrowth! The father of all greenery!
Someday, plants will rule.
Until then, I am their caretaker.
