Page 5 of The Guy Sure Looks Like Plant Food To Me
Her eye stays on it for just a second, before Chewie’s burp brings her attention back to the door.
“No way.” She whispers. “Did that thing just?—”
I don’t get a chance to deny it, Chewbacca’s next burp is so violent it actually pushes the door open, the pungent smell of rotting carcass hitting us both in the face before it closes again.
“Wicked.” She sounds more excited than scared, which I think should be a good thing but instead it puts me on-edge.
Mostly because I’m still covered in evidence.
Sure, notmycrime, but I don’t think the police will be taking into custody a carnivorous plant instead of the person feeding it the overly-pushy college guys.
The girl tries to shove past me again but I block her, “Come back tomorrow, please?—”
She groans a frustrated sound, “Did I miss her feeding? Ugh.” She slumps to the floor. “How often does it happen? I can come back right before the next one!”
It actually looks like her eyes are tearing up. I’m so confused by our entire interaction that it takes me an extra second to realize that she probably thinks I’m feeding Chewie an animal of some sorts.
I laugh awkwardly, wiping the blood from her arm as best as I can, “I haven’t quite figured it out yet, she just kind of lets me know when she’s hungry.”
“She lets you know?” Her expression is nothing less than a child walking throughWilly Wonka’sfactory, and she hasn’t really even laid eyes on the plant yet.
I sigh, remembering that above all, Chewie needs help, and the majority of the actual man bits are gone and digested now, so there’s a good chance I can get away with this. “She’s not quiet,” I gesture over to the room.
“America.” The girl sticks her hand out for introductions, “I saw your post, for the plant. I was hoping I could maybe try to help?”
“Runa,” I take her hand. “I forgot that it was still up, didn’t get a single reply.”
It’s pointless to try to open the door slowly because America practically breaks her way into my bedroom, nearly collapsing on her knees in front of Chewie.
“Where the heck did this thing come from?” She can’t control her volume, her excitement is uncontainable.
I shrug, “She just kind of called to me, she was in the middle of a batch of flytraps at the grocery store, practically dead, so they gave me a good discount. I figured I’d try some spells and see what would come of it, and the eclipse was as good a night as any to try.”
Meri snaps her head back to me, “That total eclipse four months ago?”
Guilt floods through me like fire in my veins when I first think of that night, how much she cried and roared from pain at her teeth growing and puncturing through her plant flesh. She was insatiable, with an appetite that grew daily, making it so that no amount of worms or flies were enough to fill her.
Her size tripled within a week, and she graduated from insects to small scurrying rodents around the shop. When I started to work harder than an outdoor cat, I improvised.
I had to hunt elsewhere, provide fresher kill for Chewie.
You can give a woman a fish, and she will feed her plant for a day, but if you put a bar next to her house where drunk men are guaranteed to, without a doubt, continuously prove to pose a threat to her safety … well, she will feed her plant for a lifetime.
And from their meat and bones Chewie grew and continues to grow. Now four months in, I fear it may be too late. I know there’s a soul in there and all I can do is help sustain her.
I think America sees it too.
Her voice is filled with an incredulous type of amazement. “She’s … she’s sentient?”
It would be impossible for anyone observant enough to miss it.
Chewbacca purrs into her hand, a different version of the plant coming out than the vicious, blood-thirsty, bitch who has been feeding on Wall Street jerky just a few hours prior.
Her tongue flops out, sticky plant goop that resembles saliva coating America’s hand.
“Chewie!” I chastise. “She’s not usually like this,” I try to explain, but the girl only laughs.
“Chewie?”
