You Want What?
A nightmare of a plant
“Come on,” Eloise begged, “bloom for me.”
The man who had sold her the plant had promised it would flower. At the time, it had been a tiny, feathery wisp in a dab of soil. No worries. It would grow a little bigger, he said. It would flower within six months, he said. Perfect for her one-bedroom apartment, he said. Eloise had forgotten to ask what it was called. So, it forever remained “the plant.”
Two years and half a dozen increasingly large pots later, the green and purple behemoth had taken over her living room and given up not a single bud. Eloise pictured the man laughing at her. Worse she dreamed about the plant doing so.
In her dreams, the plant mocked her entreaties to flower. “You want what?” it would say, opening its tooth-filled maw as its laugh echoed through her apartment and out into the street where the weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement joined the chorus.
Some plants thrived on love. Eloise had tried everything to convince this one to die—or at least to stop growing. She couldn’t quite bring herself to completely neglect it. That felt too much like murder. But she fervently wished it would find its own way out of life’s metaphorical door. It seemed to thrive on her hatred.
And now she was at a crossroads. She was moving across the country and had put her apartment up for sale. What was she to do with the thing? She’d tried to talk a few of her friends into taking it. Fat chance. They had been on the receiving end of every complaint she’d ever uttered about it.
But then the buyer came. “How did you ever find one of these?”
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Eclectic Ink to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.