Page 6 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
“Short for Chewbacca,” And just as I say it, my good girl gives out her best impression of the beast, the gurgling noises coming from a place no one but Baphomet himself may know about.
America’s laugh is even louder now, full of amazement and warmth. It makes the room feel like summer, it makes my chest hot and the feeling runs all the way down my spine to?—
“She’s incredible,” she breathes out.
I chuckle, my eyes glued to where America’s collarbone meets her shoulder, watching the way it moves just slightly with each of her exhales. “She is.”
4
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 flytrapthing, 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.
