Under the hay

The smell of fresh hay soothed her. This was her place; this is where she belongs. Ames had been part of the life of this farm for decades, and this barn was her home, so lying here, under the hay, was only the natural place to be. She’d usually lay on top of the hay, but today it had to be under.

It had been an exhausting day. A strange one too. Ames was used to diggin fresh soil, hay, and even manure, and she didn’t mind the extra bit of it clinging to her at the end of a hard day of work. Blood was a different matter. It was not the color, nor the unfamiliar metallic smell, but rather the texture, how it clung to her differently, and the way its very essence seemed to change with time. Ames was sure she had not been made for this. There were others that dealt with death. Not her. Ames was the kind that dealt with life, with growing, living things, and only dead things that were used for life. So this whole hitting the farmer’s wife and breaking her skull business, and now being bloody all over, in spite of some attempts to clean the blood off her, felt aberrant. But there wasn’t much she could do about it. She’d always been just a tool. She knew that and it didn’t bother her. She was rather proud of it. It was her purpose, to be used however the farmer decided. This time the farmer had decided to use her to kill his wife.

Poor Jackson. He looked so scared after it happened. He was nervous before the whole ordeal, he was pacing and sweating profusely, telling Ames why it had to be done, why he couldn’t take it anymore. But after, it was almost as if he didn’t recognize himself. Nor Ames for that matter. Remembering the way he had looked at her after he realized that his wife was indeed dead filled Ames with a heavy sadness. And then he had hurled her on the ground with disgust. Ames was concerned that Jackson would not want her anymore.

Ames knew that she wasn’t the best Jackson had, or could have. She wasn’t like those shiny new toys that he sometimes brought home when his wife was too busy to notice, pretty to look at but never lasted too long. She was older, simpler, not much to look at, rather plain and a bit dull. But she was reliable. And strong. Jackson liked them strong. And they had gone through so much together. When all is said and done, they were the ones who had built this farm together. Ames knew every corner of it, she’d worked on almost every inch of its soil.

After lying on the ground for a while, Jackson hoisted her up, and together they dug a hole. This felt more natural, although Ames was still covered in blood, but digging fresh soil in the field always brought her joy, so she did it contentedly. This was a hole larger than most of the ones she’d made during her time at the farm, almost as large as the one she’d dug when Jasper the horse passed away, but in a more remote place, where she could barely remember having ever dug before. Jackson placed his dead wife inside the hole and Ames helped him fill it back up.

Working with soil had helped her forget for a little while what she had just done, and Jackson also looked more at ease. But then he left her there, in the barn, all covered in hay, and it’s been too long since Jackson last went to get her. Ames missed him, his hands on her, working on something together, while tending to the crops, the soil, or the animals. Had he stopped caring about her? Was she still "his Ames"?

She’d heard steps around the barn for the last hour, but none of them were Jackson’s. Ames knew what Jackson’s footsteps sounded like, and these weren’t it. She’d even heard someone come into the barn, and other men talking with urgent voices, but she had continued lying still under the hay in the same place where Jackson had left her. Whoever had come into the barn had left without seeing her.

A while later, with the urgent voices and steps still around, Ames heard someone come inside the barn again and felt them start rummaging through the pile of hay. She knew it wouldn’t be long until someone found her. She hoped against hope it would be Jackson, for she did not want to be apart from him for much longer, but she knew at her core that it wasn't him, and feared that the end of their time together was near.

- Sergeant, I found something - yelled one of the voices.

- Where are you, Hill?

- In the barn, sir!

Another set of footsteps approached. Still, not Jackson.

- Here, let me see.

The man called Hill picked her up. He handed Ames to the man called Sarge or Sargent. Their hands felt rubbery.

- This is it, Hill, the murder weapon. Where’s forensics?

- Here, sergeant!

- Tag it and bag it, please.

- You got it, sir. Bagging one Ames 43205 round point shovel.

As she was being placed inside a plastic bag, Ames could see some lights flashing outside, and there, sitting on the back of a car, was Jackson. He looked at her with some mix of regret and peace, then turned his face away. And that’s when Ames knew that this was the end.