Potted horizons.

The writing buddy has given me another prompt: Write a short story from the perspective of a house plant. I was in the middle of a deadpan gym session on a negligible amount of sleep and many shots of espresso when it made me crack a dumb, childish smile in front of the sparse Sunday workout crowd.

My prompt for her: Describe a moment when time happily slowed down.

“The Housemate”

My time has come. The endless, pervasive stench of hot grease escaping the raw ingredients required for this so-called good deal of “Pete’s Zuh” shall pester me no more. The nerve, the absolute nerve of the staff to seat us so closely to the food court of this accursed warehouse! Well, phooey, to Pete and his Zuh! I do not care if it is only ten dollars! I shall endure it no more. A sophisticated woman has placed me in her shopping cart. While it pains me to sit so close to this packaged rotisserie fowl that must be channeling heat from the fiery depths themselves, I revel in the temporary discomfort as I know the new horizons that await me. Farewell, my leafy, potted kin. I will represent us with utmost dignity and prestige. Yes, scan me, human! Ha! You’re damn right I am a good deal, that is what this classy lady pays a yearly membership for! What grand mansion awaits me? Shall I be placed on the second floor? The third?! Were it not for the limitations of this pot, I would fail to contain myself at this moment. The exit nears. Oh, sun! Glorious sun!

Later that evening.

Hell is real. Perhaps in a past life, I committed atrocities to earn myself this existence. Perhaps I was a lawnmower running over patches of happy green families and now am forced to embrace humility as a potted house plant. That is the only explanation I can think of for the torture I now endure.

The woman lives in a lovely home with warm colors and clean temperaments. She bounced up and down with shining smiles as she introduced me to her husband. He was delighted to make my acquaintance. The feeling was mutual. They congratulated themselves upon finally attaining “plant parenthood.” My vision is not without limit, but a strained peek at their living room bookshelf revealed long-lived desire and anticipation for someone such as myself. They were studied. They were prepared. I was to be well taken care of. I was the chosen one. I had no complaints.

Their oldest, a teenage boy of quiet demeanor, was silently overjoyed to welcome me into the home. I could see it in his eyes. He made himself a tuna sandwich for lunch, a fair enough scent to me. He was of no issue. No, my grievances are with the gremlin. Their youngest, a girl of no more than five laps around the eternal flame in the sky, is a menace to the potted community. I thought the folly of indulgence in the Zuh of Pete was finally over, but oh was I wrong, oh was I foolish to assume my suffering was over. This “Pete” has his own master which produces equally foul-smelling cuisine the little girl demanded for dinner. “Toe-teen-oh’s Pete’s Zuh rolls”, they called it. Oh, the horror! They are tiny pockets of blistering blasphemy, perfectly sized for subterfuge and infiltration, mimicking the large circled servings in the warehouse. The parents extracted an enormous, frozen bag of them from the icebox, and the little girl dined over a piping hot tray of them within the hour! Worst of all, the tiny demon finds it humorous to try and feed me one! She insists on calling me “Potter” as well. The audacity! I shan’t ever default to calling all these humans “Huey” lest the potted community exiles me for bigotry, and yet she mocks me! Heaven save me, she exclaimed that it is her favorite sustenance! My days are numbered. I shall perish from the filth of Toe-teen-oh.

One month later.

My adjustments proved difficult, but I feel I have grown fond of this family. While I wholeheartedly disagree with the youngest’s repeated choices of nourishment, the parents tend to me with great care. I am properly trimmed and watered. The indirect graces of the great sun warm me with great vigor for much of the day. The summer grows long. I spend every day feeling rather stellar in my position. I find myself unwinding alongside the family in the evenings as their fair tastes in nightly primetime television provide communal warmth at the end of long, sunny days.

The parents often read by the fireplace. It allows me small glimpses into human literature as they gush about some phantom haunting an opera. The teenage son procrastinates his studies with episodes of House of the Dragon, as the title is spelled on the video box. I must say the limits of human storytelling appear nonexistent. While the child daughter’s consuming of Toe-teen-oh’s in my presence is not forgiven, the tea parties she includes me in are rather fun; her academic peers, whom I have heard referred to as “kindergarteners”, welcome my dapper inclusion to their soirées.

It is now beginning to feel like I am living the royal life befitting a leafy, debonair delight such as myself.

Ten minutes later.

Treachery has befallen me. My waning yet still barely existent capacity to hold myself in high regard allows me to think my final words. I am certain the will to carry on shall soon abandon me. What a curse it was to be plucked from that warehouse. I was a fool, a lowly court jester to believe myself a chosen one. My best recourse would be to learn to juggle and perhaps be fitted for a big red nose too. I should have shown greater appreciation for that stinking food court while I could.

Another plant. Another plant! The parents speak of adopting another to keep me company as if I wish for any! Oh, the humiliation of listening to them debate over which strain of nuisance to place next to me. I wish to remain a lone plant in this household, yet I have proved inadequate in charm. I have endured the little one’s wrath of nutrition for a whole month, night after night of smelly Toe-teen-oh’s. What more can they ask of me? Is there no justice in the realm of humanity? No compassion? No mercy? My fate is sealed. I shall be forgotten.

The next day.

Forgive the hasty assumption of my own wasting demise. I spoke far too soon. This family makes only the best decisions. Yes, even the little girl. Toe-teen-oh’s holds a fragrance one can become accustomed to. My judgment has been faulty from the moment I arrived.

I never thought one could be brought indoors. I had heard tales of them spanning infinite fields and growing all the way to the sky. Yet, there she is, not too far from me. The family has placed her in more sun than I may handle, such is the current tragedy that I may not sit closer. I doubt she even knows of another plant in the very same room; she only faces and sees the mighty sphere of radiance as clouds softly pass over it.

I find her unfathomably lovely. She is almost like the humans, standing tall and proud alongside them. I cannot tell where my face begins or ends, but hers is clearly defined. She is kissed by the heavens, by the great sun itself, in her yellow petals.

Where do I begin? What chance do I have against the almighty sun in the sky? She will not even face me.

A-ha! Fate strikes again. The teenage son chooses to complete his homework at the breakfast counter. This simple task prosperously grants me inspiration. Yes, while he analyzes the great works of this “Shake’s Spear” for his English course, I shall create my own confession of love! Bless the long summer, I have all day to ponder before the great sun sets upon her blooming face. Only then may she turn to me and learn of my blushing existence. Oh, curses! I have no pen, no paper, and no arms to write! No doubt, the majority of this afternoon shall be spent memorizing.

Later that evening.

Dim streaks of pink paint the skies as the evanescent sun begins to disappear into the night its absence brings. Bah! It is night! That is all I wished to say! I do not think in those words frequently, but I have spent the past several hours drafting something I hope will woo her, and thus my mind remains stuck in artful prose.

The summer night feels warm. A fuzzy tingling eats deeply at the soil that I cannot articulate. How did the other plants say it? Something about having butterflies in one’s roots.

The family has settled into the comfort of its living room for the evening. The parents snuggle on their end of the couch while the newest season of You plays; such psychopathic melodrama is something I did not expect to enjoy. The teenage son sends messages on his cellular device, occasionally breaking into a soft blush and smile when he receives one back. The gremlin pieces together a puzzle on the coffee table; I was spared the smell of grease tonight, perhaps she senses I have an important task.

Great heavens, she turns! The sun has set! Here is my chance.

“flowery words;”

i pray that you excuse
the freshness of my blushing candor
i was moved so deeply
by sight of the great giver in the sky
beyond its limits of day,
i have only seen the sun
amidst wisps and fluffs of white
against infinities of blue
this is my first time
seeing heaven step down
to sit on our humble earth
as such a pretty flower.

With a newly welcomed awkward silence, I now realize I should have begun with “Hello.”