. . . . On this, the 60th day, I find myself increasingly fearful, increasingly fraught with concern for the future. The Vine by all appearances and actions, has taken on a life and a Mission of its own. Even starved of water, it mocks, taunting me with its limp canopy even as it sends drill-like tendrils ever higher, ever beyond the intended confinement of the garden. It flaunts with tier upon tier of alluring blooms, as if to draw all sentient life to its fecundity. But it bears no fruit, as if to say "Come. Taste. Become entranced. Become infatuated with my Pollen. Pollinate me. . . . Become MINE." I have taken to searching for small skeletons beneath the canopy of the leaves. Thus far, I have found none. But I noticed a childish flyer posted on the light pole at the corner. A missing chihauhau, it would seem. And as I continued upon my perambulations of the neighborhood, another notice, a missing tabby, another, a missing poodle, a missing . . . child. I must admit, these public cries of anguish and unknowing had heretofore escaped my notice. It is the Vine that consumes my waking thoughts. It is the Vine that consumes my dreams. I have all I can do to make this entry, here on the 60th day. May I but be able to continue tomorrow . . . .
Posted on: Mon, 19 Aug 2013 21:47:13 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015