A stack of corpses drained with a winelike liquid started dripping decay down the window stall of Mr.President's room in the White House.

I'm just a gardener with a hay hat and a large pair of scissors. I promised my wife I wouldn't run away from this job.

Owl eyes stared from the window,

a dark sticky figure with a blazer and a red tie, whispered in a low pitched frequency a frenzy call for garden blood.

I looked down, and saw my own blood dripping over the white daises, and a large pair of scissors stocked in my heart.