Seeds

Annabelle, despite having such a clear vision of her future, was not one to think of consequences (as if that horrendously hamartia-like quality was not already made apparent) and had the man quite risquely draped over her much-too-small (she only just realized this) wheelbarrow.

But this little future-mortician would have to make do, as she had with much of her hobbies.

She threw glances at the honestly unnecessarily beautiful (also, unexpectedly heavy) man. He looked uncomfortable in the wheelbarrow, but Annabelle realized that that wasn't really that big of a priority, considering that the fellow was, in fact, dead.

And why was that, she wondered. How had such a fair man come to such an unfair fate? Had the butler done it this time as well? Granpop would get a hoot out of that.

She wished he were here.

You know, despite this situation, and her rather indifferent reaction, she hadn't really seen a dead body before. Granpop was cremated (the Umbarges were Reform Jews) and it's not as though Dreeville had enough people to really die with frequency so she wasn't really-exactly-for-positive-sure about what she was really-affirmatively going to do about this whole thing. Who even was this guy?

Thoughts about his past, present, and VERY ended future circled in her head. She wondered if he had a brother. What if that brother was Richie(ew)? Did he have a girlfriend? GASP!, She thought (really, she thought the word "gasp!") What if he had a terrible argument about his spending habits at casinos (little did she know he was also cheating on her with her sister) and she just got so mad she hit him over the head with the pan she was cooking vegetables in and- wait, haven't we seen this line somewhere? ANYWAYS, so she kills him, and just dumps his body in a cemetery. Annabelle shook her head. Adults these days, she thought, no sense of justice.

At least Annabelle got to have a little excitement for a week or two, before the body started to get gross, albeit at the expense of a young mans life.

Swell.

The wheelbarrow was getting quite hard for Annabelle to push, and she had just passed the forest's edge so she let herself have a bit of a break when she saw it. Some sliver of white was peeking out of the fellow's shirt-pocket. Annabelle apologized for intruding on the man's personal space (she does have manners, you know) before plucking a piece of paper out of the dangerously vogue, purple, button-up shirt he was wearing.

In the scrawl of what could only be described as a chicken's, the words "Hello, I'm sure you're wondering why I have this in my shirt-pocket" were spelled out, and Annabelle wondered how this fellow had quite-read her mind, even beyond the veil. Her curiosity, which you must understand fuels most of her actions, kept her reading the unnecessarily long message, directed at her (by name), signed Theo Pots.

He had asked her to check his other shirt-pocket (which she did, of course, it has already been established why) in which there was a bottle. Within that bottle was another note, which, to Annabelle's impeccable understanding, had told her that she could communicate with him by placing a note in the jar, placing it back in the pocket and pulling it back out later, after Theo had written a response and done the same thing. Uh-huh. Well. Uhhhh...

Annabelle was reconsidering this whole operation. I mean, talking to the dead is fun and all, but this whole system of communication seemed boring and excessive, and opposite to her curiosity, her patience did not come in bounds. But she had come this far. Essentially carried this man such a distance (about 45 feet, far away, I know) and was exhausted physically. So, what the heck, she thought, I'm already here. She plucked a pen out of the man's pant pocket (for which she also apologized for intruding) and began to write him quite the note.