Moloch closes a book and walks from his study ordained with his various achievements as a surgeon. It is 3pm and like the day before, he heads down the main hall, through the foyer, and onto the east portico that overlooks his vast garden. With little to occupy his mind, his garden has become his most obsessive hobby. He beams with pride as he overlooks the garden, brimming with red and white roses. His garden sits adjacent to a beautiful lake and hidden by a marble wall, which simultaneously hides the low income apartment complexes that have sprouted around his elaborate multi-acreage estate. All of the apartments are overrun kids, tall grasses, and dandelion weeds, the latter of which has become the bane of his and his rose garden’s existence.

His hand shakes uneasily as he grips the golden railing and walks down into the garden. He reaches out, with his hand shaking, and plucks out a few of the struggling yellow leaves of the roses. While he works, a breeze blows through his coat jacket from the south. He looks up to see the seeds from hundreds of dandelions fly up above, circling him in a cyclone, and seemingly targeting his roses, settle onto the ground of his garden. He shuffles backward, trying to make note of each seed that has fallen, an impossible task. He meticulously pinches the dandelion seeds, one by one, from their fallen place, and snuffs them into his coat pocket.

After two weeks go by, at 3pm, moloch makes his daily trip to the garden. He sees the heads of some missed dandelion seeds that have covertly sprouted among his rose garden. Agitatedly, he shuffles back inside to his study, grabbing his old forceps from the second draw. Making his way back down to the garden, he clutches the forceps as strongly as the Parkinson’s clings to his ailing body. He shoves his shaky fingers into the forceps, carefully balances himself onto his knees and feebly places the forceps to the crown of the first dandelion while giving a tug. The earth releases the dandelion plant, and again he shoves it into his pocket while moving to the next. This time, the earth is more generous, offering the roots that fight for existence through the rose soil. He falls back slightly, catching himself on his free hand, and steadies himself back straight again. He places this whole plant beside him and works to get himself in a stand. He is almost up when he steps on the legs of the dandelion weed and falls backward, hitting his head on the bricks below.

2 weeks go by, and a woman from next door knocks at the front door repeatedly. She is tired and annoyed, but cleaning this estate pays for most of her bills, so she is relentless. She makes her way to the east of the estate where an iron railing separates her from the main garden. She presses her face into the iron rails, and sees the beautiful white and red rose garden dotted by yellow dandelions. Her gaze travels to find a figure, slumped between the beautiful roses, dandelions growing from his pocket. She turns and walks away defeated, determined to find another way to pay her bills.