Written April 09, 2004 minor updates January 1980

I don't know what they're called, but I've always liked them; little violet flowers that dot the grass along the edge of the lake. When I was a little girl I'd spend hours picking them and weaving their tiny stems into purple halos to decorate my brown hair. The decoration never lasted longer than an hour; they wilted so quickly. There was a time, though, when I forgot about those flowers. I grew up. I left my home by the lake behind me and proceeded to move about in the busy world of adults. I went to school, where I was an excellent study at my chosen profession in the business community.

Upon graduation, which was attended by my parents, I moved smoothly into a job at a prestigious company that sold commercial real estate. I went about my job in a professional manner, pleasing everyone that mattered and not worrying about those that didn't. I wasn't looking for wealth, just comfort in my future, so I had an easier road to follow than most of my co-workers.

Day in and day out I would observe others racing ahead of me, leaving in their wake the entrails of those who had gotten in the way. Of course I had to walk a fine line; I didn't want to get pushed aside so harshly. And there were those climbers who tried to push and found out, rather quickly, that what they saw on the outside was not what I was on the inside. I rarely had to say anything directly. If they were smart, they immediately got the message. I didn't tolerate those that didn't understand.

Despite my menial position in the company, I had a power that was not to be trifled with. New employees learned this, or they faded away. I realize that sounds cold, but anyone with intelligence will tell you that you cannot look for a solution to a problem with your emotions. For my continued peace of mind, what I did had to be done. I never hesitated and I slept well at night with a free conscience. In the end, isn't that all that matters?

I was as content during that time. My days were pleasant with a comforting routine. As I think upon it now, it was that routine that was just like those days by the lake, weaving the tiny violets into halos for myself. I believed that I could live my whole life with such ease until the night my mother called in distress.

Mother is an excitable sort. Her histrionics long ago drove my father to leave us and find himself a life upon Life's road. He left me behind with her, with her tears and inappropriate laughter. When she called, late that night, I wasn't doing my best to listen. It was a habit of hers to use the dead of night to relate what she always felt was dramatic news to me. She enjoyed her melodrama. My habit was to pretend to listen politely, speak the soothing platitides, and promise once more to visit her within the fortnight. Of course, something "always came up" and such a visit never came to be.

Her news this evening was about the lake. I was eyeing the clock; 3:27am and I had a report due tomorrow. I heard bulldozers and something about property being sold to a developer. I shot fully awake when I heard the word. . . bones.

I sat up straight away in the darkness, not bothering to switch on the bedside lamp. My mother continued, her voice holding a mix of horror and sadness. One of the bulldozers had unearthed dozens of tiny skeletons, mostly squirrels. At first they'd thought nothing of it until one of the workmen noticed something odd about the skeleton of a tiny rat. Its little paws had been tied together, as if in prayer. Curious, the worker dug a little more. Each discovery of an animal skeleton with its front paws tied together added to the bizarre until someone called in the media.

Further exploration revealed dozens of rodents, birds, and squirrels. Examination of the tiny corpses revealed that each animal had been strangled or suffocated before being gently placed within its grave; its silent face pointed heavenward. Encircling each small skull was a curious bit of plant matter that had been neatly and tightly woven to form a halo.

As much as my mother was disturbed by the find, she couldn't help but reminisce about the fact that I had played down there, down where someone had created such a horrible little cemetary. I was unnerved and sympathetic, and promised to visit when the weekend came. Further I assured her that none of the children I had known could have done such a thing. More than likely it was someone none of us knew.

I hate to admit it, but that next morning at work I was not myself. I don't know why I was bothered. I felt haunted. I couldn't look at anyone during the day without feeling that they saw a shadow behind me that wasn't mine. I tried to compose myself, but I couldn't.

I'm sure I don't have to go into anymore detail. You know what happened. Several months before the lakeside cemetary was discovered, a similar cemetary had been uncovered in the forested hills above my city where I lived and worked. I'd been very concise and had left only mystery. The more time passed, the less time the media spent on the unsolved crime. My position in the company at that time was well settled, so there was no other side work for me to pursue.

I suppose if I'm guilty of anything it is of thinking I'm perfect. We're human and flawed, and as much as we do our best to reflect the perfectionism we strive for, there is always that one time when we trip and fall.

I know you don't understand and I really am tired of trying to explain myself. I never did anything out of hatred. As I said before, emotion was never allowed to figure into the equation. However, just as with the animals by the lake, I gave all those I dispatched my utmost compassion and care. I didn't have living tiny violets, but I'd become very artistic with colored paper; origami it's known as.

Naturally, I have since refused to deal with everything after I returned home and was brought here. It's a pleasant enough place, very clean, and I rather like the simple gowns we're given to wear. They smell of Spring and they're dotted with hundreds of little flowers; purple ones. Just like the tiny violets that grew around the lake. Exactly like the ones I used to weave into halos for myself... and the animals.

Finis