HOME | DD

Description
Weeds

I like gardens, but I’m not naturally good with growing things.  Often, they die on me despite frantic, constant care.  Others survive but change their nature and color until no one but me could recognize their original form. Humans mostly all have talents, just as many weapons have stats, but some come with negative numbers.

Still, I enjoy my backyard forest, my plot of personal weirdness.  I have blue iris growing in the dark space behind my house, and moonflower.  Catnip struggles to survive there, though its unhealth has more to do with my three stoner felines than my lack of herbal talent.  There’s a rabbit hole that threesome knows to avoid, because Bunny has big, nasty teeth and is meaner than they are, poor overfed domesticates.

It’s an interesting garden if not conventional.  There’s ivy crawling the wall, and ground moss, and fat scary mushrooms in spots.  My money tree is not doing well at the moment, but I’m trying a new fertilizer this weekend.  I’ve nurtured wolfsbane and poppies, and vervaine and pansies thrive by the frog pond.

And of course, there’s you.

I’m not sure if I want to touch you or hide from you.  I tell myself I don’t like things with thorns.  You whisper back, then why have cats?  For the softness of their fur, I reply, and your silent smile unnerves me.

I know you’ll come for me someday.  October seems a good month for it.  I’ll wake, breathless, and watch cracks appears in my walls like black lace as your fingers grip the house in climbing to my room.

Or maybe it’ll be summer.  I’ll be lying tanning on the beach, and something dark and strange and beautiful will grow over me like an ancient shade tree while I doze fitfully in the sun.

As the day approaches I feel my nerves rising restless along my arms and back, and tension growing in a subtler part of me.  I pause often in the market to check the prices on weed killer.
The damn stuff is never on sale, so I guess you’re safe for now.