skonen_blades

Plant people, they called us.

Then they all died. Farewell to the flesh. Disease took the meat, leaving only the insects and the plants. Leaving us.

We’re humanoid in appearance. We are born in giant stalks that peel away, towering corn husks that reveal us, green-skinned and smooth, with the smell of mown grass bleeding onto the wind. Our entire bodies breathe. We swim and bask in the sun for nutrients. When we are close to death, we turn into seeds like the mighty dandelion and we blow away.

There has been a war among us. The tragedy of the humans is now being visited on us.

We have many strains among us. Hybrids and splices that have given rise to many different kinds of plant people. We have the purple eggplant people, the wide-eyed orchidfolk, the trusting daisykin, the oak soldiers, the leeching weeds, the devious ivymen, and the all-knowing bloodwoods.

Or at least we used to. I am ashamed to say that I am part of the victorious race. We call ourselves the Roses. Our bodies are thick and thorny and our petalled faces have inspired poetry.

We laid waste to entire crops. Old recipes were found for chemicals that killed different plants. We extrapolated.

Now we are the only race of plants left. This lack of variety had bred weakness into us.

It was the aphids. They’ve come in force with no natural predators. The ladybugs have left us. We are dying and there are no other plants to live on after us.

Variety was the spice of life and now we are facing Armageddon.





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