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Mazie May's Secret Garden

A Brave New World of Secrets, Sex, and Serial Killing

By Susan Eileen Published 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 12 min read
Mazie May's Secret Garden
Photo by Kristina Flour on Unsplash

Get a job. Go to work.

Get Married. Have children.

Follow fashion. Walk on the pavement.

Watch TV. Obey the ungodly laws.

Act normal. Save money for old age.

Now, repeat after me: “I am free!”


Clearly, Mazie is struggling to lead a normal life, something that she desparately wants. It is not going well at all. She eluded the police at the rest area - her training as a police's man wife is complete - all she has really had to do in her life is bat her baby blue eyes. It look a long time, but she learned how to fool her husband, and by logic, cops in general. No one but her knows the fate of anyone she has had ever come in contact with. She is the perfect stranger.

She decides to walk into a diner, pull out her journal and begin writing. It is time for some reflection. Some down time. A time to clear her confusing thoughts.

Ordinary Life

1. I didn’t realize until my daughters wedding that Clevelanders are constantly apologizing - she actually apologized for not spending one on one time with people at her own wedding. Sorry, can I ask you to do the job you were paid to do? Is another common question. When your city never wins a super bowl see how you feel.

2. He is just a fleeting crush. This too shall pass. You want it to be real, but you know it won’t be. Its that hedonic adaptation again. The best lover, the sexiest lover. Plus she wouldn't kick him out of bed for eating crackers. It started as a one night stand. How de we get here? Isn’t that what always happens?

But you’re sure it will be different this time.

She thinks of all the smitten lovers, the rejected lovers that would have been better husbands perhaps but also probably worse. She seems to attract alcoholics. She could scarely tolerate the ruddiness to the skin that only alcohol can do. So apparent in the noses of the men she wished to bed.

She's a lover not a fighter, but since love didn't work, she resorted to violence - apparently it's her love language.

He is a gal sneaker, an old victorian term that she loves - he has mastered the art of seduction and he knows it. Where it all goes wrong is the affection. Mazie is not used to people touching her other than for sex, or violence, or both.

She was always an outsider. From the beginning she knew she didn't fit in. The darkness in her soul came and went. She never knew when the darkness would strike. (As she grew older she realized that it is during her blackouts that the violence strikes).

Mazie's childhood was peculiar. She always knew she was not meant to live in a small town and the ensuing gossip that comes with small town living. She studied everything with a monastic devotion. The promise of social mobility was an obsession at this point. Education meant moving both up and out of a town where dreams go to die. But spontaneity was in her bones as well. She promise of fun from wandering was also embrodieried in her soul. Wandering, evil, fun and education turned out to be a dangerous combination. She is the epitome of a perfect stranger, she is the textbook definiton of madness shared by all the authors she has read before.

The more you know the less you understand. That's her only advice, and to always think twice. She always goes with the most complicated answer. She always has to stop herself from overthinking. It makes it impossible to smell the roses, something that the gal sneaker has perfected.

Surely you are growing weary of hearing about Him already. I'm growing tired speaking of a man who, quite frankly, is just her latest toy. Her new favorite thing.

3. What is the secret of joy - ignorance is bliss - like when your husband is cheating on you, you think all is well, in fact he is even more affectionate than normal. But he is so cruel. You don’t deserve a vacation, he doesn’t want grandkids around. His inattention leaves you confused. You thought he loved you. You never realized you had PTSD until you met Him. He would smoke, much to your chagrin and wave it around. You would bob and weave. Damn that divorce was painful. His eyes are cerulean blue. They are intoxicating. Whenever she compliments him, the blotches of ruddiness appear swiftly on his skin. A shock of blonde hair that only Icelandics possess is exactly intoxicating - intoxicating - peculiar way to describe her lover. Perhaps she is addicted to sin. She is not in love, but the sex is good. She falls in love too swiftly for sure, forgetting that her mental illness scares everyone in her path. Once again, enough of him - its just a nice distraction from her troubled mind.

4. We are all just cogs in the machine. With these dirty doctors and even dirtier cops..(finally, her mind bounces off him..try to control those post it notes). She remembers living in New Orleans when Katrina hit - that area of the country was depressed and traumatized that everyone was doctor shopping..then fentanyl came around. She loves her conspiracy theories. Her current one is that fentanyl is released to kill off addicts. What is an addict good for anyway. Scurrying through garbage at 3 a.m., looking for an identity to steal. Identities are traded for drugs on the black market, and she good is what she does. It is in her long term plans to escape her situation by stealing an identity. Die or escape before being found out was part of ther grandmother's master plan.

She sighs. Time to read and calm down.

Nope - Mazie’s perfect kill - time to focus on HIM. How can she love him and hate him at the same time. But isn't that what marriage is all about, but she can't kill her husband, although she is positive that every married woman has fantasized about it if only to have the financial freedom that comes with being single. He is too easy, anyone she has ever slept is too easy. Love escaped her once again. That's why she is confused. She is confused by everything. She needs to find someone that no one will go looking for - another piece of her grandmother's advice.

She reminds herself of her grandmother's rules - the guide to serial killing. Don't keep any trophies, then she seems to drift into a trance within the small confines of the room she has rented for the hour.

She is beginning to think like Daisy, maybe channel Daisy. (The truth of how Daisy has access to Mazie's mind, body, and soul will be discussed later - it is too early to entrust you with this information. Only the most devoted and loyal she should receive this information).

Daisy took evident pleasure in elimating the standard stereotype of panhandlers found on every crowded street corner. Her looks were the perfect hook for every stranger she meets, every potential kill, every lover. She has to learn to keep quiet, and look exotic. Americans love the exotic, but she was neither content with being pretty, she wanted to be smart, she wanted to own a business, she wanted to be white, and walk the streets with impunity.

Daisy was predestined to be a serial killer. It was in her genes. Although the scientific community, of whom she also was also suspicious, had not identified the trisomy on the sex chromosomes, she had it. An extra Y chromosone made her hostile, angry, and altogether unpleasant at times.

The communists are taking over. It is all over social media. Pundits are calling the downfall of America the product of late stage capitalism and everything is failing. There is no food, no wine, no bread. Her population control efforts are minimal at best. Apparently no one remembers the Bolshevik revolution. She is a wealthy woman that must hide her assets lest they be taken from her in this communist revolution - they are redistributing wealth - her wealth and she is having none of it.

Three condos to lose, a high salary - all of it to lost if the communists take over. The pandemic changed everything. She used to go to the library to ruminate with the other patrons discussing the validity of the Electoral College, what resources will we use to heat homes after fossil fuels are gone, and other such intellectual discussions. With all the doom and gloom prophecies about the future, Daisy doubts that mankind will survive that long. Too many asteroids come towards earth. It so only a matter of time before we follow the fate of the dinosaurs. Or will we go out with a whimper? Maybe, an unseen enemy that will come when you least expect it. Once again, she is thinking too much. The government does not like a smart woman. She needs to keep her head up, escape her demons and pretend all she does is bake pies. So much safer that way - to be perceived as dim and boring. Dim and boring people have nothing to hide - its her perfect alter ago.

She realizes that she is just a cog in the machine. And with that thought, Daisy leaves her mind with a plethora of ideas.

With these dirty doctors and even dirtier cops..her mind is bouncing around again..those post it notes. She remembers living in New Orleans when Katrina hit - that area of the country was depressed and traumatized that everyone was doctor shopping..then fentanyl came around. She loves her conspiracy theories. Her current one is that fentanyl is released to kill off addicts. Its really a genius plan really, no ones looks for Creoles either who are trapped between the the races of two very different worlds. Perhaps you think that the country is integrated. Go to a church or a barber shop and then get back to me. Successful integration is still out of reach.

But first - Daisy’s Garden what did she learn from that? Daisy was so wealthy - were did all of her money go? She hid it from the government because they were redistributing wealth. The IRS was tracking everything.


Mankind will go out with a whimper. Mankind will go out from an unseen force. Mankind will be destroyed within. All of these could be true, but probably none of are true, because truth is stranger than fiction. Biological weapon? Population Control? Probably a mix and match of the theories. The possibilities are endless. Then there is eugenics. Oh the horrors of eugenics. Let me enlighten you as to this horrid but well-intentioned practice. In the pursuit of the super soldier, the road to hell is surely paved with good intentions.


It is indeed important to entrust you with this information, trust and loyalty being the key words in the retelling of this story.

Let’s take a look at discarded practice of eugenics. Eugenics – from Greek eugenes ‘well-born’ from ‘good, well’ and genos, ‘race, stock, kin’ – is a set of beliefs and practices that aims at improving the genetic quality of human population. I have only recently fully comprehended the horror of this practice.

My mother dated a man named Martin, almost thirty years ago. Martin was a true conspiracy theorist, from milk being a “deadly poison” to his claim to my daughter that “Betty Crocker is trying to kill you.” But people are a product of their circumstances.

Martin was once married for many years. For all his faults, he was exceptionally loving and affectionate person. He desperately wanted children. After trying for years, his wife – at the time – and he went to the doctor. The doctor was mystified that Martin should see a fertility specialist. Who has a vasectomy and then wonders why he can’t get his wife pregnant. Wait… STOP! A Vasectomy?! “I never had a vasectomy” Martin said.

Martin would soon discover that he had been sterilized during a routine tonsillectomy, as a teenager. His father, in the spirit of improving the genetic quality of the human population, made the executive decision that Martin would never be able to pass his juvenile diabetes on one of his grandchildren.

Something that has really changed since millennials were born, is that women are no longer blamed for genetic defects. When Anne Boleyn gave birth to not one but two babies – that were so badly deformed, they didn’t survive – the only “logical conclusion” that Henry VIII came to is that Anne was most certainly committing incest and sleeping with her brother. She was decapitated for it. Not only was their an ambition to improve the population, you had the horror of people believing you must have done something to bring on the wrath of God, if there was something genetically wrong, if there was a life-long disability…

I can almost picture Martin with his wife, Rosie, who I never did meet. All the periods that came on time… Martin kissing his wife on the forehead and saying: “Maybe next month, honey. Let’s keep trying.” Discussions around seeing the doctor; the excitement when the period is three days late; waiting with baited breath to see a plus sign on the pregnancy results; seeing blood in the toilet – disappointment returns; wrapping your brain around the horror that you will never be able to have children and that your father made that decision for you… If you were to get a tonsillectomy and come out intentionally sterilized, you may be so shell shocked that now milk is a deadly poison.

This is just one example that millennials don’t have to deal with. Slavery, human experimentation, coat hanger abortions, separate – but equal – genocide. These were once acceptable practices. But the struggle of law and justice is as old as time. These are issues that have come to light since millennials were born: global warming, mass shootings, ubiquitous technology and all of its perils and pitfalls, which are too numerous to attend to here. This is where I stop. Every other problem that I can think of is just a spin on an old problem. “Fake news” as it were, was called yellow journalism some 100 years ago. Drug addiction? That’s been a problem for more 200 years. Taft was the first President to address the country’s drug problem. Our climate is the biggest issue; our planet is melting - no wonder people want to escape into a bottle.


Mazie is now calmed down a touch. That whiskey does the trick every time.

She pulls out her grandmother's journal and rereads her grandmother's notes on how to get away with murder.


Perfect stranger - the disposable - no one looks for them

No trophies

Die or escape before you are found out

The swirling, howling winds distracts her - driving her to the point of madness - how does she channel Daisy again, it seems to happen when she is between the two worlds of the blurry edge of sleep and her subconscious.

The ideas are especially good when she micro doses - like an addict can micro anything.


Get a job. Go to work.

Get Married. Have children.

Follow fashion. Walk on the pavement.

Watch TV. Obey the ungodly laws.

Act normal. Save money for old age.

Now, repeat after me: “I am free!”


Mazie decided to return to her grandmother's abode, now destroyed by fire, she is certain she will find more secrets in the garden. It's a Brave New World of secrets, sex, and serial killing.

Mazie turns on one her favorite songs and begins to sing along.


Sweet dreams until sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave your worries behind you

But in your dreams whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me.

Fuck is her silent scream - she has gotten to attached. Surely this will be her downfall. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The crack is now wearing off..She falls asleep swiftly wondering if her crush is thinking of her too.

She has always believed in the collective unconsious - she would've loved to converse with Jung, a disciple of Freud who believed her could foretell World War I...

World War Three is on the Horizon - pick your poison. How do you want to die? She might just be envisioning how we all die in the end..She reads the news. You should to.



About the Creator

Susan Eileen

If you like what you see here, please find me on Amazon. I have two published books under the name of Susan Eileen. I am currently working on a selection of short stories and poems. My two published books are related to sobriety.

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