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America

I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

Her?

It seems the plant is more than just alive, it’s sentient, it’s feeling, it’s not just foliage and plant cells photosynthesizing.

I can sense something more in there, in the depths of who she is.

She even purrs, like a happy kitten nuzzling into the palm of my hand.

It feels just as good too, shoots the same kind of chemicals into my brain that trick me into believing this is enough for happiness.

And it truly might be.

I don’t ever want to be away from this plant.

I love all of them, I have ever since I was a little girl, studying them under toy microscopes, picking flowers to turn into potions and perfumes and eventually, I grew up, and I knew I wanted to really understand them.

A degree was a waste of my time according to Williams and my father.

Especially useless when it just furthers an interest that will only serve to annoy whatever future spouse my dad will someday choose for me.

It’s as exhaustive to think about as it is to get through the sentence alone.

“She’s incredible.” I try to say but I’m too dumbfounded to be sure if the words even make their way out of my mouth.

“She is,” The witchy woman chuckles, her arms crossing over her chest now that she’s given up on trying to expel me from the room.

She’s absolutely breathtaking, but this time it isn’t that plant that’s caught my attention.

Raven hair down to her low back and bright green eyes that see right through me.

It’s nearly uncomfortable how deep her gaze burrows into my soul, just from a passing glance.

She’s wearing a simple tunic, from her elbows all the way to her knees covered in black fabric and for shoes she sports beetlejuice Sandworm house slippers.

There’s blood all over her, splattered on her face, smeared over her clothes, her entire arm covered in the dried stuff all the way up to her elbow as if she just recently had been in a drive-by fisting.

That’s when I finally look at the entire room surrounding us; it’s messy as hell, eclectic, with crystals and tapestries slung all around the place.

Aside from the blood and chunks of flesh everywhere and the giant Venus fly-trap thing , there isn’t much out of the ordinary here for a metaphysical shop.

“I saw your post looking for a plant … person …witch …doctor?” There’s only uncertainty from my mouth, no confidence in any of the words I’m muttering.

“She’s sick?”

“I think so, she keeps throwing up what I feed her but she’s still crying like she’s hungry.” Her voice cracks, the concern breaking through the facade she wears for composure.

“You really care about her.” It seems like a silly thing to be pointing out, but to most people a plant is just a piece of furniture with extra responsibilities.

She nods sadly, “It started about a week or two ago,” Runa gets down on her knees, resting her head against the plant.

Chewbacca rumbles like an old engine.

It’s the best feeling in the world, the way she vibrates, her energy filling the entire room.

It’s only spoiled by the graveness of the situation.

“She isn’t keeping food down but she cries of hunger all day and night. I don’t know what to do.” Fat drops of wetness splatter onto the floor just beneath her.

“Don’t cry,” I whisper, taking my free hand and wiping the trail from her cheek.

I don’t know why I do it, my arm just moves on its own but once it’s happened it’s too late to take back.

“Um, I’m sorry.”

The witch is slow to look up at me, her reaction impossible to read.

Chewie vibrates under both of our touches.

“Did you feel that?” She asks.

“Is it not normal for her?” I laugh, pulling my hand back.

The plant bares her sharp teeth at me, something like a snarl showing itself if any way possible.

It only goes away when I touch her again.

“Aren’t you the plant specialist?” The witch asks me.

I scratch the back of my head awkwardly, “This isn’t really a plant.”

Chewie growls, the sound making Runa cackle, the joy utterly contagious as it bounces against the walls.

“Better not tell her that. She’s quite unaware.”

Runa wipes the remnants of tears from her face with the back of her arm, but the dried blood just rehydrates and smears over her face.

It makes her look adorable, though slightly disgusting.

I take a closer peek at the flytrap, examining to see if anything out of the norm makes itself known to me.

“Can I look?”

I’m asking Runa, but it’s like the plant can understand me, and she comes open for me willingly.

“Good girl.” The witch’s voice takes a sultry tone, the words shooting down directly into my core, a reaction that compels every hair on my body to come to a stand.

She’s talking to the plant, not you!

I think I might need to sit down, but then I realize I already am.

My brain generates the most basic question it can to try to cover up the major glitch in my programming she just caused.

“How many times has she fed?”

She shrugs, “More than a dozen, for sure.”

“And this is the same … mouth as always?”

Runa tilts her head in confusion, “I don’t understand the question.”

I smile, “I’ll take that as a yes. The traps die after a certain amount of feedings, for normal sized plants usually after the fifth or sixth. The traps will turn dark and wilt and they get replaced. For a plant this size …” I trail off, expecting her to understand where I’m going here.

“So, Chewie’s probably just getting ready to replace her trap–mouth–thing?” She grimaces, stumbling through the words trying to get each one but only drawing another growl from the plant.

“Something like that, I think. The throwing up is concerning, if anything she should be refusing meals outright. How do you offer her food?” We’re both playing this weird game where we keep inching closer to each other because Chewie won’t let us take our hands off for more than a second without snarling.

Runa awkwardly looks around the room and gives me an unsure shrug, “I don’t really ever offer, she just kind of lets me know she wants it when it’s around.”

That makes no sense.

I realize I’ve said the words out loud instead of just thinking them.

“It’s hard to explain, her food preferences are…strange.” She gives me another nervous grimace, “At best.”

The trap tilts itself up toward the ceiling, opening up slowly.

It makes a wheezing-type of sound, and then the air is suddenly filled with pollen-like powder.

It’s hard to breathe, hard to see, we’re both coughing, swatting to clear the green fog but it’s everywhere.

The entire store is engulfed in the plant’s spores.

My eyelids feel heavy, “What is that?” I say, but Runa is already on the ground, her lashes fluttering as she struggles to maintain consciousness.

I fall on top of her, muscles sluggish and numb to feeling.

And everything goes black.