Sweetboi 2

 March 19, 2025

What a terrible detective I would be! I posted about Sweetboi’s death on Facebook, and so far 90 responses have been recorded, which is lovely, but most of them assumed what had–until I read the posts– not entered my mind. I assumed he had thrashed himself to death after being caught in the bark. The blood on his breast and one talon I judged to be marks of that struggle– though I also noted that his body came loose from the bark almost without effort, and I wondered why he couldn’t have done it himself. The Facebook posts assumed he’d been shot, and wondered if I knew who did it. This makes mores sense. A new mystery opens. Who, then, deliberately hung him so I would find him? He had not been there the evening before, and he had not been dead long. I excoriated myself for not discovering him in time. He had not been there to discover in time. He had been killed and left where his body would cause the most hurt. I have a secret and vicious enemy. Furthermore, he had crept into the deep of my garden and done the deed without my knowing. He is an enemy of some intimacy, who knew what I loved and how to use my garden to display his deed. I’ve ever been bad at knowing my enemies. I have been reluctant to think I had any, not that the Universe hasn’t mocked this oversight in the past. Some grief fell from my heart, for my inattention had, if all this is the case, nothing to do with the wild fair being’s death.