Reign of the Plants Part II – Short Story – Jefferson Wallace

Nona had spent this morning, like so many mornings before, rooted in the expanse of an open field, rooted in the shadow of the great temple she now stands above, rooted in a field opened through the sacrifice of countless scores of martyred shrubs and trees; a holy site signifying the cycle of plantly existence. From mulch they are made and to mulch they shall return, and as mulch, they become a sacrifice to the perpetual care of the mighty Black Eye. The flesh of trees turned to chips, the shred of leaves turned to string, sugars to water, nectar to life. Mulch, made from the living, fed to the exalted.

Dead fieldNona thought back to this field, now. She and the rest of her colony were spending the day locked in silent pose. Worshiping, as the plants do, in silent radiance. A ritual on each of the seventh day: Sun-day. The group was following the warbling instructions of their high priest, Frond Peter.

“Palms facing the sky.” He ordered. “Channel your plantly spirit: arms angled for balance and symmetry, feet rooted in soil, energy harvested from the sky, trunk strong, arms loose.”

The gathered congregation was asked to accept the direction of the breeze with unquestioned course. To submit passively to its influence. To suppress reason in favor of pure reaction to external stimuli.

Frond Peter serenaded in angelic melody:

My petals may not be sweet,
my stalks may not imbue.
My roots may not hold,
my trunk next to you.

But if I do not flower,
I know just what to … Continue reading

Reign of the Plants Part I – Short Story – Jefferson Wallace

Nona flicked the match against the edge of the box. The strike ignited, causing light to dance on the head like a ghost materializing from aether, evaporating order into chaos. She raised the stick above her head, stretched her elbow straight, and rocked up to her tiptoes to lift the match as high as possible. As she brought the other hand up to meet the flame, she used the fire to ignite a kerosene mallet, then swept the torch over the bodiless figures gathered below. As the light penetrated deep into their ranks, it washed in the outline of human forms amidst the shadowed darkness of night like a waterline lapping upon the shore: never settled.

Nona could read the horror illuminated on their swollen faces. She could see the pulsing terror throbbing through the crowd, a pale fear accentuated by the monochrome darkness. A contrast as stark as the night surrounding them was to her taunting smile, sadistically draped on her face. Nona waved the torch so that it crackled with dynamism before stepping one foot closer to the ledge.

Templ“What do you hope to accomplish?” A spokesman emerged, shouting.

The provocation was answered only by the dim echo of sound reverberating against the hollow façade of the temple. Nona steadied her stance on the roof line and cemented her position atop the most revered of shrines, a divine tribute by her society to the holiest of plants: Black Eye.

Black Eye is a magical plant, if there ever was one. It was the first species to reemerge after the extinction. Deep black leaves connect to a central purple stalk allowing … Continue reading