They never watered it. They hadn’t even planted it. Yet still it grew. It was fascinating.
“How many times have I told you all to bring your dirty teacups downstairs?” Agnes said, as the vines curled up out of the mug and moved slowly to an arrhythmic beat. “Now look what’s happened.”
“It was Tina’s fault!” Claire said. “I don’t even drink tea.”
“Tina drinks tea,” Daniel said.
“And Claire drinks clay!” Ethel added with a giggle.
“I do not drink clay,” said Claire. “And even if I did at least I take my cups down to the kitchen! Unlike Tina! She’s too busy writing poetry!”
“Look, it doesn’t matter now whose fault it is,” said Agnes. “As long as it doesn’t happen again.”
“It won’t, Mum, I promise,” said Tina. “But can I keep it? I’ll feed it every day!”
“Okay,” Agnes said reluctantly. “But you’ll have to look after it carefully. It takes a lot of time and patience to nurture living things.
“Thanks, Mum!” Tina said excitedly. “I’ll feed it every day! I promise!”
In front of them, a thousand tiny mouths opened on the tips of the houseplant’s fronds and began to sing plaintively to its audience in dissonant harmonies.
“I wonder what it eats,” Claire said. “I bet it’s something disgusting.”
“Like maggots!” Ethel said.
“Or bananas!” Daniel shuddered.
“Well, I’m only going to feed it nice things,” said Tina.
“At least Claire’s safe,” Agnes said quietly. But not anywhere near quietly enough.
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Notes:
1. Written on June 7th, 2021
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