I don’t know where this come from and I had a little trouble with it, but it’s done.
Purple oil flowers covered the landscape as far she could see. A money maker, these fields, but so far from any shops.
She cast a longing glance to the west, past the big tree, picturing the town miles down the road. Her brother would be meeting with PurpleFlow’s finance people right about now. Her job was to babysit the flowers.
Too bad they needed nothing from her. The flowers were like a weed. They would grow anywhere at all, as long they had the right soil. But that was her secret.
She sighed, tucked her matching PurpleFlow phone into her jean pockets and went out to make a soil check.
The soil compost containers were stacked against the back walls. Faint whimpers emanated from the last, top-most crate. She detoured to check on it.
The young man looked fine. His blood trickled into the soft, black soil. His hazel eyes were dazed from the pain, but his still struggled against his chains. His wrists, elbows, knees and ankles were rubbed raw, but that didn’t matter. She’d made small holes in his limbs so the blood drained slowly. Too much would ruin the soil.
But the whimpering! She grabbed a ball gag she’d left in the box for just such occasions and stuffed it into his mouth. The strap cut into his mouth, but she didn’t care.
She petted the top of his matted, stiff hair and closed the crate lid. The bottom one was ready; the boy in there was just a skeleton now. She filled a container with the soil and set off to fertilize her fields.
Story Treasury 