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Plant

First in my series of Flash Fiction responding to spells

By Alyson Smith Published 2 months ago • 1 min read
Plant
Photo by tabitha turner on Unsplash

Plant

Plant Growth Spell

The Purpose: To promote the growth and health of your plants.

What You Need:

  • A small green candle

  • A bowl of water

  • A potted plant

Wren lit her green candle, placing it gently near the small anthurium. The plant was a sad sight: its red spathes were tinged with brown, barely held up by a dull green stalk. The few remaining leaves drooped, yellow and limp. Wren picked up a bowl of water she'd prepared. She focused all her energy on the struggling plant, then visualised the cold water filling with nourishing energy. After a few minutes, she slowly poured it onto the soil.

“Grow strong and healthy. Grow strong and healthy. Grow strong and healthy.”

Wren settled into her old armchair, picking up her knitting barely visible in the flickering candlelight. The deepening dusk and the rhythmic click of her needles lulled her into a comfortable but light sleep. When she awoke, the first thing she noticed was an overwhelming smell of peat. It was deep and earthy, reminding her of forests and bonfires of wood and leaves. She realised the candle had burned down, leaving the room in near darkness. A strange rustling sound, like a soft insistent whisper, caught her attention, drawing her eyes to where the anthurium sat.

Wren could just make out its grotesque transformation. The plant, once withered, now pulsed with an unnatural vibrancy. Its leaves, no longer yellow and limp, had turned a deep, almost black green, thick and strangely veined. The red spathes, previously dull, now gleamed with a wet sheen, writhing and twisting into sharp, pointed tips.

The rustling grew louder. Horrified, Wren watched as one of the newly invigorated sails slowly, deliberately, began to curl inward, much like a predatory maw. An unnatural chill seeped into the room as the anthurium, or whatever it had become, shifted again. Wren could hear it breathing as it reached out to her. The last sound Wren ever heard was a soft, wet click – the sound of a trap snapping shut.


Magical RealismFiction

About the Creator

Alyson Smith

Neurodivergent, working-class writer and artist diagnosed with Bipolar. Based in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. MA in Creative Writing. Currently waitressing while finishing my novel.

https://buymeacoffee.com/alysonsmith

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    Written by Alyson Smith