it’s what plants crave (body horror)

it’s too bright.

arnar trembles under a collection of humming lightbulbs. sometimes he can remember that they’re designed to help rather than hurt him, but their intrusiveness is unwelcome to the point of tears; gobs of aloe sap streaming from milky eyes he can’t keep open. the heat from the lamps makes him feel dry and cracked, even though this enclosure is thoughtful enough to include humidity. it isn’t enough to compare to the heavy, wet air of the cave he’d been dug out of.

his body misses the dark; misses the wet dirt. his thoughts are too molasses-slow to remind him that this location is an improvement.

large bandages cover the expanse of his back and thighs. the feeling of thin gauze and emptiness reminds him of the trauma of being ripped out from the root and cut off from what had become extensions of his body. even as he slept, these gaping wounds twitched incessantly, searching for what belonged there and leaving him wrought with nausea from his body’s constant panic.

for now, at least, he still flowered and grew. the moss that adorned his features was still vibrant and present, as were the small leafy stems that protruded from his flesh and cradled his body with vines. no matter how many times they had been picked, the flowers that sprouted from the sinewy skin between his fingers and from the warmth of his long ears always returned. though his complexion held pallor from lack of exposure to the sun, the speckles of vibrant green and small, colorful flowers were a kind addition to his altered appearance.

the comfort he had found in growing into this abomination—fusing with the flora within the depths of saint mocciane’s arboretum had finally been taken from him, long after he had accepted it into his mind and heart. now he felt small and weak, separated from the limbs that connected him to the brothers and sisters that had so voraciously consumed him all of those months ago.

now it was an intravenal tube that offered him sustenance—a syrup of nutrients and hydration to replace what he now cannot access otherwise. it feels fake and intrusive in his veins even though his body consumes it faster than it can be administered. it’s a battle between plant and viera to take what is needed to restore what is missing.

his tongue is thick and slow, and his mind heavy from the haze of painkillers that feel as if they do more harm than good. his throat has forgotten how to speak, leaving him to voice his pain and protest in a manner that fills his sometimes lucid mind with the far and distant sensation of embarrassment. he can feel eyes on him, evaluating his struggle.

arnar used to be smart. quick.
no, he is still smart, but he cannot communicate the way he used to. not yet. at any rate, speaking feels cumbersome and inefficient, but the impulse never truly left him.

the large, angry scar of a still stapled incision decorates his abdomen from his navel to just under his sternum. it’s been opened and shut several times, as evident by the obvious delay in healing. the greenery that unfolded in the otherwise empty cavity pierced through organs and made a mess of his insides, continued to stubbornly return and wreck him with inflammation and the fatal threat of infection. it nearly went unnoticed until one day the tendrils forced their way out of arnar’s mouth in search of another soft, warm place within him to penetrate. without proper supervision, his guts would continue to propagate desperately under the threat of exinction—likely until he burst. how many more times he would need to be opened up and debrided was unknown.

getting his internal organs to relearn their original purpose was proving to be a difficult task. his energy and oxygen were consumed in a different manner now, but the intention was to try and bring arnar back to some semblance of humanity rather than plant. all of the tiny roots that have overtaken him would need to be painstakingly removed, one by one.

for this, science was an absolute requirement, as the skill of a chirugeon wasn’t specific enough to restore his dna to its pre-chimera state.

ironically, if arnar was standing on the other side of the glass, this would be an opportunity he would kill to research. for now, it would be utterly lost on him, as he spends most of his days trapped in the horror of being torn from his bonds.

in time, the tubes that provided his nutrition were removed. arnar often could not make sense of the language being spoken above him, but the phrase “tough love” would remain etched into his brain as his veins gradually emptied and burned with need and the remaining tiny roots still piercing his heart grew strict and unforgiving. the word “please” formed behind his dull eyes and hammered into his brain until he was certain he was dying. wilting. his only option was to beg.

he sputtered, his dry lips too clumsy to guide his tongue properly, but the guttural cries that ripped through his throat seemed to get the point across.

there was a wet slap in front of him; the specks of water that hit his face evaporated instantly as his body temperature climbed. in a sobering moment, arnar could recognize the scent in front of him. plants. ripped from their roots and thrown before him. not unlike himself.

what was unlike himself, however, is that these plants were fresh. their insides still flowed with the sticky-sweet food his entire body was trembling for. in an entirely different manner, he felt sick. momentarily, anyway. his brittle fingernails cracked as his hands balled around the vibrant leafy stems in front of him, his distant stare somehow harboring obsessive intent.

arnar had become a docile and passive creature in the near year that had passed.

suddenly, he ignited with the aggression of a beast.

his legs were still mostly unusable, having twisted and atrophied themselves to take root in soil. they would require a considerable amount of modification and cosmetic alteration before he would be able to do anything remotely close to walking. rather, he was forced to writhe pathetically with need as his hands gripped the offering.

with his arms quivering, arnar stuffs his mouth with the limbs of his own brethren. the wet crunch of their stems echoes in his skull as they burst and coat his tongue with their thick juices. with no consideration of capacity, the excess squeezes out between gnashed teeth to stream from the corners of his mouth and coat his face. the sensation of leaves crunching violently under his force is dizzying, and the ravenous sounds that escape his lips are those of a wild animal.

the flavor is amazing. arnar is completely enraptured. he needs to feel the crunch of destruction and flood of life between his teeth and down his throat. for the first time in nearly a year, there is actual food in arnar’s stomach. but it’s not nearly enough. not when ripping apart these forever disfigured counterparts feels this good.

his eyes are blown wide; the flowers budding from his tear ducts soaked in an opaque green wetness. his entire face is sloppy now, coated with excess juices from trying to eat too much at once and forcing it anyway. elated by the sensation of moisture soaking into his tongue and rolling down his throat. the saccharine sweetness is setting his senses alight with pleasure. he’s had more than enough for survival, but not nearly enough to satisfy his desires. this is all he wants.

the laughter he hears is distant and unimportant. he would rather fill that space with the destruction of the life and flesh of his peers. nothing is more important than the feeling of flavor clinging to his tongue and the satisfaction of the intentional fullness in his guts. no longer was he a passive creature who would only take what he was given. he’s become insatiable and lustful for much, much more.