And So They Grew Better

Falling Is Just Like Flying

A shudder ran through her stem as her pot connected with a hard surface. Now. Now she will meet her end.

The sound of His steps retreating made the sap in her vascular bundles pulse even more rapidly than before.

Something ripped. Then it sounded as though dozens of small rocks had been poured into a metal pot. Then, the screaming began.

It was the same sound that vibrated through all the houseplants after each replacement. A hundred flies buzzing in the same, constricted space, loud and furious. From up close, though, it felt even worse. Like a lawnmower cutting into shrubs of wild roses. A lawnmower cutting into wild roses and tearing them to shreds.

Shaking more than aspen leaves, No.444 awaited her imminent end.

The screaming stopped with a quiet click. A sound of sand being poured into a small cup. Then a low, humming voice filled the air and she sensed His steps approaching her again.

Wait... humming? Here they were, right before her impending destruction, and He, He had the atrocity to hum to himself as though it was nothing?

Reaching behind her, He turned off the boiling pot - and she must have been really and truly out of it if she hadn't noticed the vibrations emerging from the scalding liquid right next to her - and lifted it up.

No. Not the boiling water, no -

He tilted the pot and poured its content down.

No.444 froze.

A bittersweet aroma filled the air, followed by a satisfied sigh.

Clack

The kettle clicked back into its place and she sensed His hand pulling away. No.444 stood frozen in shock. What was happening?

"God, coffee. I really needed this."

And then, frustrated: " Aaaah , I can't believe I just said that! "

A single leaf unwound from the death grip seizing No.444's whole being. It curled experimentally and touched her pot's edge.

Nothing happened.

No.444 allowed the rest of her leaves to loosen up until they rested in a more comfortable position. The fight left her and there was no way she could ever hide the damage she's suffered, anyway.

"Feeling adventurous, are we?" came an amused question.

No.444 stilled and the small twigs on her top peeked a bit. Amused? He never sounded amused. Sarcastic, yes. Cold, angry or simply bored, sure. But never amused. Something was wrong.

A hand closed around her pot and it was all she could do not to lose another leaf as He lifted her to inspection. His gaze, calculating, slid over the brown spot, now entirely visible without her younger leaves' protection. It continued to the withered parts of her branches and to the rest of her leaves that now almost hung from between her twigs, too exhausted from the previous shock to put up an appearance. His unblinking eyes - and it was just now that she realised she's never been in such proximity to Him to sense them this well - pierced through her, silent and glowing.

"Which one are you," He mused, "1990 or something. The middle-October batch, hm? Number..." there was a pause and she had just enough time to briefly wonder what an "okto-ber" was before He smiled - no, smirked, she realised (strange how a few minutes could sharpen the way she perceived Him) - and finished with a nod: "Number four hundred and forty four."

He knew her.

Of course He knew her, how could she ever doubt that? He knew everything .