The Plant and The Meteorite, A Poem by Chris Russell

A plant pulled out a gun and started shooting. There were bodies all over the place. It was covering all the exits out of the department store. I dove into a fountain. After about a minute I came back up for air. I looked around for it but I didn’t see it anywhere, so I thought I’d try to make it to the dressing room in house wares. But something was stopping me, an invisible force. The plant had me in some sort of gravity beam and I couldn’t move my legs. I could hear it shuffling along behind me the way plants do. “Wait, before you kill me, can you at least tell me why?” I said. It turned off its gravity beam and shot me in the back of the head. The bullet exited through my right eye socket. “You’re going to have to do better than that,” I said. “Actually, I think I’ve realized something. There really is no point in killing is there?” It said. “The beast has left you,” I said. “I guess I just needed to shoot it out of me,” it said. “Well, I’m glad I could be part of this,” I said. A giant fireball came through the ceiling and landed on the plant. I ran over to help it. “Can you move any of your leaves?” I said. “Yeah, I can move a bunch of them,” it said. “That means you’re still alive,” I said. “And I can talk too,” it said. “Even better,” I said. “It means you’re thinking rationally, and the meteorite didn’t hurt your brain.” “But plants don’t have brains,” it said. “You demonstrate intelligence, a will to live, don’t you? I’ve watched you move slightly toward the sunlight when you’re in your pot by the window.” I said. “I guess I do,” it said. “Let’s get you out of here,” I said. I reached down underneath the meteorite and lifted it up when my pants fell down. “I can see your Johnson,” it said. I let go of the meteorite and pulled up my pants. “Ouch! I think you broke my stalk,” it said. I counted to three and lifted it up a second time. The plant didn’t crawl out. I heard some voices coming from the meteorite. “Hello, anybody in there?” I said. “It’s me, Plant. My plant soul got absorbed by this meteorite and now I am to spend an eternity inside it. “So that’s true what they say about an afterlife. After you die, you actually go somewhere else?” I said. “No,” it said. “You wouldn’t call your situation an afterlife?” I said. “No,” it said. “Then what would you call it,” I said. “No,” it said. “You’re not making any sense, plant,” I said. “Shut your mouth,” it said. “No. You can’t talk to me like that,” I said. “Shh, I think someone’s coming,” it said. “Well, get out of there,” I said. “Your life sucks,” it said.

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