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CHAPTER FOUR:
Pray to a Higher Power
PART TWO…The Master's Prostration… The plant bank was silent as a tomb until he came. It was always this way, the air muggy and thick, the steel walls and concrete floor cooled by the night. Not a flicker of light, nor a passing shadow hinted at the life within. This was surely just a couple rows of overgrown light bulbs in a fancy old container, or so it appeared. A soft glow began to rise from the bulbs, all at once and yet too slowly to note the change. The dormant plant angels powered the light gradually, rising from slumber to stretch their fibers and forces. Slightly, their bodies moved within the core. Just little shivers of awakening, no more. All was light and static well before he stepped in. Knives glanced about, assessing any changes in the environment within the ancient wreckage. He climbed the main catwalk, dropped his pack in the usual spot, took out his notebook, and began to personally address and adjust each plant. Within, his heart was fluttering nervously. The excitement still had not waned, though this was the eleventh day of his pilgrimage. Despite his anxiety, to read the letter and share his hopes, he forced his mind to clear itself of all emotion and thought. Otherwise, the plants may become distracted and affect the accuracy of his adjustments, as had occurred before. So he went, plant to plant, offering a friendly hello to each, by name. He left no detail unchecked, no number unnoted. Once finished, he packed the notebook away and pulled his essay from an inner pouch. Knives laid a blanket out and climbed atop it, assuming the most humble position he'd thought of. He knelt, then sat back on his heels, bending his head before him, until his face was a hand's length from the floor. Setting the pages below his nose, he began to read slowly, pronouncing each word with vigor. Like a composer proudly singing his latest work to a grand audience, he let his emotions and hopes beam forth through tone of voice and inflection. He could only hope that they were reading his mind as well, to see the wonderful images he had invented. As he read through the last few lines, he forced his voice to slow, despite the excitement. An inane smile spread across his lips as the final words slipped out, volume decreasing until the end. Knives turned his eyes from the pages and folded his hands against his forehead. "This I ask of each and all of you, with respect and endless affection. Please, allow me to raise a plant child. I desire…I need…a companion. So badly. Every fiber of my being demands that the loneliness cease. Please. Help me, if you agree with my need. Thank you." Knives paused, lifting his head slowly. He swiveled to observe each bulb, noting that there were no apparent changes in temperature or light. Perhaps they were thinking, pondering his words. Perhaps they were ignoring him. He couldn't be sure, and so he let their silence leave his thoughts. He took out his dinner and spread it out atop the blanket. Each piece of fruit and vegetable was set out in patterns, peas laid out in circles to the sides, strawberries laid in a sunburst pattern, and so on. Once the meal was laid out, he again assumed his low bow and thanked the plants for the bounty. "To you, my brethren, I submit my regret that I must sap some of your strength to prepare this food. But since I must eat to live, I apologize heartily to those I may not grasp in a thankful embrace. Please forgive me for my past sins to you and our race, and allow me to continue basking in your good grace. For this I ask, as your humble servant and sibling." Lifting his head, he again noted no changes in them. They never seemed to respond to the meal prayer, yet he always chanted it before eating. Assuming a more comfortable sitting position, Knives began his meal. He ate slowly, though his belly ached from the hunger. His manners were exquisite, to prove in every action that he was civilized and intelligent enough to deserve a companion. All was to convince them, yet each thought that swept through his mind that even barely resembled assumption or pride was shoved away angrily. How dare he think such things, he scolded himself mentally. The soft sound of chewing subsided for a moment, and was replaced by a chuckle. Knives looked down at the strawberry between his fingers. Strawberries reminded him of Vanessa. He knew why they did, but kept himself from recalling the reasons since they were rather private. Smiling, he closed his eyes and rolled the fruit in his palm. He envisioned a plant child beside him, full grown and female. She would not be deformed as Vanessa was, since he would make certain to extract the infant from the bulb as soon as possible. Her hair would be blonde, he assumed, but the color didn't really matter. She would be tall and slender, wearing a fitted dress she would make for herself. Surely she would have a rosy-cheeked, happy disposition and lovely posture. Unlike Vanessa, she wouldn't let her hair fall into her eyes all of the time, and would be completely without horrid memories. Her skin would be flawless and soft, except for the occasional callous from work. With great effort, he kept himself from reaching out to touch her. Nevertheless, he kept the mental image of this great female. "Can you see her? In my mind? Isn't she perfect?" Skipping a few previously imagined interactions between himself and this fictional woman, because these scenes were far more private than the strawberry metaphor, Knives envisioned their children. One by one he added the little ones, two grown sons, a grown daughter, an infant son, and one on the way. The female's face glowed from the pregnancy they would create. Knives sighed happily as he reveled in this fantasy. After a moment, he opened his eyes, still smiling giddily. "If you do provide a child, I understand that it will take an amount of time. I will be patient. Since you show no clear interest in these topics, I'll begin reading from an unrelated book, alright?" Drawing a tattered novel from his pack, he popped the last of the strawberries into his mouth, wiped his fingers, and addressed them again. "How does Poe sound?" A familiar and comforting flow of heat began to radiate towards him, and the light brightened. Before, it was almost too dim to read, but now he knew they were anticipating the stories. He began to read a classic horror tale, because it was what they wanted. |
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