Garden of the Peculiar

I’m a terrible person. And terrible things appeal to me.

Branches terminating in skulls.

Transparent petals whose vessels glow white as bleached bone in the dark.

Bright yellow leaves whose soft serrated edges exude a dark red liquid that drips and pools and stains the ground like the signs of a crime scene.

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The Garden of Perpetuation

As it so happened, the Houses of the Black Radish, the Purple Carrot, and the Green Garlic all found themselves traveling the rough road that led to the garden of perpetuation.

They traveled thus, the human envoys carrying vegetable plant seed on their persons and vegetable spirit within their persons. As the envoys conversed among themselves, so too did the spirits of the vegetables.

“Root and bulb are we,” said the Radish, with sharp attention. “No tubers do I see.”

“The tubers are well-loved,” the Carrot remarked sweetly. “They have no need of the great garden.”

“So are we well-loved,” said the Garlic with mild bitterness. “Or once were. And will be again, I would wager.”

“But by then it may be too late,” Carrot warned. “We would be gone.”

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