Ravenous


-Disclaimer: Popcap might pop a...okay, that joke was extremely distasteful, and I'm sorry. Also, I do not own the intellectual property.

-Summary: Chompers weren't all grown to be gourmands. Some just want to stop feeling the hunger.


Gnarl could remember perfectly the day he was first planted.

It was a nice day.

The lawn in question was resplendent in the light magnanimously gifted to it by the overhead sun. The grass was perfectly maintained - a vivid, but not sickly, green, each blade trimmed to just the right height to create a wondrous continuance. The ambient temperature was warm, without being scorching, and the previous day had seen some showers, so the soil was still moist and penetrable. Taking root could not have been easier for Gnarl, but it was that moment that he would most sorely come to regret.

So he'd matured into a chomper, albeit one with a hideous disfigurement. Chompers were not renowned for their handsomeness, however, so this was insignificant. After all, the gnarl for which a sunflower had named him did not at all impede his functionality. If anything, it just made him a little harder for the zombies to eat, so he was happy to abide it.

When he saw his first zombie, it did not intimidate him. It seemed much more like he scared the zombie, but, guided by the horde's powerful aggression, the zombie lumbered toward gnarl. Inquisitive as to the delicious taste of zombies he's heard through the (literal) grapevine, gnarl reached forward and took the whole zombie into the cavernous bulb that served as his head, and chewed. It truly was a remarkable flavour, and he savoured it, enjoying the soothing of his stomach as it was filled.

His stomach began to growl several more times that day, and each time he dutifully filled it with another zombie as soon as one made itself available. He distantly noted that each zombie began to taste worst than the last.

On the third day, things staled. The zombies ceased becoming appetising morsels, and so Gnarl simply determined that he wouldn't eat anymore. Unfortunately, he was not aware what kind of force he threw himself in opposition to.

The hunger pangs came back with a vengeance. Gnarl decided to sate the beast with one zombie, and then continued his fast. He came to the bitter realisation that these hunger pangs were beyond what any other species of lawn defender would ever experience. Gnarl had a craving for decomposing flesh.

That craving devolved into an addiction. With the amount of zombies Gnarl had to throw back just to stem the tide of his appetite, eating them became mundane enough that the process was no longer conscious. Instead, Gnarl's attention was forcibly redirected to the squirming of maggots and trickles of coagulated blood on the inside of his mouth, and the horror set in in earnest. Gnarl could no longer stop eating, regardless of his wishes. However, Gnarl could at least enjoy a few moments of refuge from the worst of the effects for a brief time after each meal.

That little mercy faded until even zombies provided infinitesimal relief from the silent agonies of hunger without starvation. Gnarl became so ravenous that he could not focus on much else other than his disgusting food, elevating his suffering to an order of magnitude beyond. The awkward design of his anatomy - perfected for devouring large mouthfuls and nothing else - prevented him from uprooting himself, and so he was forced to survive and endure without end. It was a miracle that his team spirit had prevented him from trying to swallow the fellow plants that occupied the lawn around him.

In the absence of eyes, despite any amount of sorrow he might experience, Gnarl could not shed a tear. Instead, his mouth remained contorted in a mocking, psychotic grin.