- Local time
- Today 2:28 AM
- Messages
- 1,082
The members of my family nourish, are feeders. They give and give until their stalks wither and die in the coming winter. That is not me. I am not a feeder. I am not a giver. My vines stretch and reach, creeping into gardens and well travelled paths. I have black berries that shine brightly in the sun, enticing. To those who don't know, I am merely another plant. To some a weed. However my history goes back farther than the two legs. The walkers. My history is long of this world. For every new growth, for every iteration and avatar from my seeds, I continue to creep into their lives.
My berries have aided many a woman in ridding her life of her own weeds. My my my. So much has been done with my body, my fruit. The bodies of hundreds lay at my roots. Paralyzed and gaping, their maws like fish opening and closing as their lungs draw their final breath. Men, women, children, animals of all sorts, shapes and sizes, who have partaken from my body have perished. My vines yet spread.
In the garden I find myself, I am respected by my caretaker. She prunes my dead and injured limbs, discarding them carefully. She waters me, feeds me, ensures I have the sunlight I need. She always wears gloves because she knows. She knows and understands my deadly toxins can kill. Sometimes she uses my body to help them. The women. She helps the sick and the ailing with other plants, neighbors that are growing far from me, but sometimes she ensures a swift end to the troubles of women that come to her. In this measure, I flourish under her care.
I am always eliminate the snarls of life that these women find themselves in.
I suppose I am a giver. I give these women a new hope for life without fear of the men that so readily bruise their bodies, their hearts, and their souls. In this, I will continue to do what I have always done. Prevail.
I have many names. A man named me Atropa Belladonna, but the people know me by my other name. Deadly Nightshade.
