Acquiescence

It was a slimy little thing. Bubbly greens and yellows oozed through his little hands. She had no idea where he found such a disgusting creature, but it didn’t matter. He smiled, jumped, and giggled while processing the fact that he had the audacity and ability to take such a thing home from school.

“Can I keep it, mommy? Can I!?” he excitedly asked.

She felt it. The quick urge to say, “No.” The desire to protect. She had no idea why those instincts kicked in. It was a furry little thing, and she could always have him keep it in his room. Yet, that sparkle in his eye was hard to deny, even if that sparkle dimmed under the haze of the fumes coming from the living thing.

He leaned away. “Ewww, it farted!” He giggled.

She giggled, too. She wanted him to have fun. She wanted to have fun with him. She couldn’t handle the thought of saying no and dealing with the frown, the sad eyes, the slumped shoulders, and the return to depression and despair. He had no friends. He was constantly bullied at school, and found it hard to express himself without fear of ridicule. It wasn’t how she wanted life for him to be. She wanted more for her son. “It’ll be fine. He’ll handle it, and if he can’t, I can always throw it away.” “Yes,” she finally stated aloud.

“Really!?”

“Mmhmm!” she confirmed.

He shouted in joy and hurried to his room in the rear of the house. She sighed, knowing full well this was going to get messy, but her optimism lifted the image that first came to mind and gave her a more positive one. An odor lingered as she contemplated whether or not she made the right decision. She shook her head. “It’ll be fine.”

She spent the next hours in the court of her mind, appealing while also prosecuting. What would he be doing with that thing? What would that thing be doing to him? Where’d he get it from? Should she let it fester?

She provided character witnesses for both her and her son. Still, prosecution requested witnesses. She overruled. Despite this, God was brought to the stand. He softly stated what she had already known, but His testimony was stricken from the record. She overruled again. Things would be fine. Whatever gets out of her son’s control would still be within her control. Court adjourned, or rather interrupted, as he came running into the living room with his new creature.

“Look, mommy, look!” he said as he held it up to her.

Chunks of goo dripped from the floor. She fought her initial reactions to simply smile. He was showing her a small oleander that had grown from a stim on its side. It was pink with five petals in full bloom. She hadn’t noticed it before, and she told him that.

“It just sprung up! Isn’t it cool!? I wonder what else it can do!” he said.

She giggled nervously as he rushed back to play with it further. As she listened to the steps pitter-patter down the hall, she was tempted to wonder. Each thought was met by a petal. Such a beautiful flower beheld and cared for like her son. He was the happiest she had ever seen. She was content with that.

Over the days, it grew. She couldn’t go into his room without seeing it sprouted up beside the window. The sunlight could barely get in behind the blinds. Its shadow reached beyond the half-empty dresser, the dingy rug, the passed-down bed, and up to the light switch. The shadow stopped just where “OFF” was displayed. It had grown so much, it stood bigger than her.

She laughed at the “vase” it nestled in. It was a trashcan. Her son had grown tired of cleaning its feet of ooze, goo, and unknowns. So he placed it inside a trash bag inside a trashcan so he could lift it out of one bag into another. The bag that had been filled with gunk would be taken to the curb. She learned very quickly that its trash could not wait for the garbage trucks. He had to take those bags to the curb immediately.

She marveled at the impressive creature. It stood so tall and overwhelmingly gross. It was a stationary thing with pores that almost drooled green and yellow puss all over its skin. The ooze traversed through lengthy hairs like a Pomeranian, making the fluff look like silk. She couldn’t tell if there was a face. She couldn’t tell if it was a plant or animal. Yet, it had flowers growing all over it. Was it a girl?

She couldn’t tell what it was, but the flowers made her believe she was a kindred spirit. She wondered how she would look in the light. Maybe the sun would make her glow more than flowers could. Suddenly, her nose caught a whiff of a disgusting odor. She covered her mouth as returned from the daydream. Only a man could smell so rancid. She closed the door, grabbed some air freshener, and walked away, spraying.

This is how life went. She, busy in the busyness of a busy world, and her son in his room, finding the only joy in his life that he could have. When she came home from work, he was locked away, laughing and playing. When she woke up for work, she heard him speaking with his new friend. She was happy for him, but something in her wished her friend was human, or at least identifiable.

Weeks of growth passed. Branches slid behind the doorways like legs of an octopus. The odor the body gave seeped through the many holes. There was not enough air freshener to mask it. She had him cleaning it daily, but the ooze sank into the carpet, creating a lingering smell. She felt uncomfortable in her own home.

When her son arrived, she met him in the kitchen. His face had returned to the solemn despair it fashioned so long ago. There was no smile. There was only stress. He knew he had to clean up after it. It was becoming a chore rather than something new to play with. The second their eyes connected, she knew the wound reopened.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he expressed. “It’s everywhere. The stench, the branches, the spores.”

“Spores?” she asked.

“It sends spores into the air. They don’t do anything, but I can feel them in my chest.”

There was much that had happened in that room. The confession turned morbid as her son detailed spores nesting in his lungs. A mouth had grown from a flower. It had grown so big that it could kiss him goodnight. All it ever did was look at him and smile, but it didn’t comfort him. It made him afraid because drool would slide through its teeth and down to its chin. It looked like a venus fly strap with swollen lips and large teeth. Its salivating only an indication that it was ready to feed.

She investigated. She marched down the hall to the bedroom, past the many slithering, flowery blanches. She opened the door and saw it staring at her. The same creepy smile her son described to her no longer needing a description. It was like something out of a horror film. She thought she heard it say, “Feed me,” but maybe her own childhood was attempting to be revived for this moment. A chill went down her spine.

“Outside,” she said. “Take it outside. It’s probably too cramped in your room now, so it needs room to grow. Maybe that’ll make it better.”

With that, they took it outside, being sure to remove every slithering branch or wilted flower. It fogged the house in protest. Their eyes teared as they passed the threshold into the backyard, placing the thing in the uncut grass with the insects and snakes. It frowned. Woefully, its eyes followed the trail of ooze leading back into the house.

Its sadness infected the household. She watched as her son dealt with the changing atmosphere. Though the house was cleaner and fresh, he was still upset. He didn’t have to clean up the yard, but the moments he was away from his friend drove him back into sorrow.

Whenever she’d come home, she’d find him staring emptily at dying petals. The move into the light was killing it. He wouldn’t admit it, because he knew she wouldn’t allow him to bring it back into the house. She was mom. She was in control. His only option was to obey.

Still, she’d find him out past curfew, sitting near it in admiration. The fight it tried to put up in the darkness made him feel like he needed to fight as well. He began to whisper things – things he thought she wouldn’t hear, but she did. She began to fear him.

Somehow, the days sank further into darkness. The yard was taken over by the creature. The plants had died and only tentacle branches slithered about in the soil. All were accompanied by oleanders. The hues started to vary. Not only did more flowers appear, but more mouths. They were smaller, but each drooled a peculiar black liquid. One time, she focused on their lips. It looked as if they were saying something, but she couldn’t make out what it was. It was the same type of whispering her son had begun doing. Small statements under the breath that a parent would assume are said from a place of fear.

Months passed. Birthdays had come and gone. Her son had not gotten better. Though he did not have to clean up after his friend anymore, going outside became taxing for them both of them. No matter which exit was chosen, there it was to greet them. It was either a slithering branch sliding up the thigh, a puckering lip attempting to kiss them, or their nose being assaulted by odors.

For the first time in a while, she heard an inner whisper telling her to address it. “Call your husband. Tell him to come home. Tell him to speak with his son. Tell him the money can wait. You can find another way to stay afloat.”

She searched through her contacts. She knew he would be respected if he spoke, that is, if he was sober when he did so. Their son would definitely listen if they both spoke with him as a unit. She went to call, but decided to text instead. She was too busy. He was too busy. The boy would just have to spend another day without correction. It wouldn’t be too bad. They’d speak to him soon.

Then, one moonless night, their son found himself lying in the backyard. The dirt felt like soothing waters. He stretched out, letting the branches of his creature slither beneath him. He wished he could feel such a peace. The thorns slicing his arms couldn’t be felt. The vapors inhaled by his mouth did not make him cough. He was sinking into a state of numbness.

The creature wrapped a branch around his neck. It was so smooth, he thought it was water brushing passed him. He couldn’t feel the air thinning, nor could he taste the petal being inserted upon his tongue. He could only feel the waves and wonder why nothing else made him feel free.

As he searched for the answer in his mind, he pictured a taller, fatter boy with bigger hands. He pictured an upturned nose from a pretty girl. He envisioned a frustrated teacher seeing straight through him. All these faces came to mind, and yet, not so many faces at all.

The only thing numerous were the faces who did nothing to stop them. The faces that laughed at the bruises. The faces that turned from the suffering. The faces that teased at his rejection. The faces that ignored him.

The more he thought of it, the harder his chest beat, and the fainter his breathing felt. He opened his eyes and saw the creature hovered over him. It smiled with that devilish smirk and drooled onto him. He didn’t realize the drool was acidic until his thighs, knees, and wrists screamed in peril. He twisted and turned, driving the thorns deeper into his skin. It had never hurt him before. There was no acid nor thorns to cut him. He was afraid.

“Take me back to where I came,” it said.

With that, it released him. He plopped back onto the ground as if recovering from a daze. He looked around and saw that the ground came back to life. The grass stood tall like it had never been cut. The snakes and bugs scurried away from the sound that awoke them. He stood, looking at the miracle. The burden of the creature was gone. The branches, flowers, thorns, and smiling faces vaporized. All that remained was a seed the size of a father’s hand nesting upon a large tongue waiting to be vaporized. Instantly, his mind said, “Crush it.”

Instead, he lifted the seed. It felt heavy. It contained something powerful. He measured it in his grip. He held it to his ear. All he could hear was the slight clicking, like a second hand ticking away inside a watch. From there, he knew. He couldn’t wait any longer. He had to take the creature home so it could blossom again. The tongue, seeing his determined path, evaporated into a vapor which filled his ears. Then, the boy took the seed and concealed it inside his backpack.

As for his mother, when she left home the next morning, she was expecting the same strangeness that she had been witnessing for the past month. To her delight, it was not there. The creature had altogether vanished. The yard had been cut, and fumigated. Only grass remained. The plague that had consumed her life was gone. She was pleasantly surprised, hoping this chapter was behind them.

As she rode down the normal streets to go to the normal job, her normal phone received an unexpected ring. She looked down from her seat and read the words Normal High School. Maybe her son had gotten sick. I’m sure the creature took a lot out of him to clean up. She was sure it had oozed, gassed, wheezed, and bubbled on its way to cleanliness. She answered, expecting a nurse. Instead, it was the Principal.

“Good morning, Mrs. Mother, we need you to come to the school immediately. I can’t say why on the phone. It’s better if you just get here as soon as possible. Mr. Father has been called as well, but we were only able to leave a voicemail.”

The call abruptly ended. Her mind rushed to as many conclusions as sands on the beach. Some ideas combined, while others clashed. Fear struck her heart as she drove. She didn’t want to admit it, but she asked herself, “What did my son do?”

She pulled up to a school surrounded by people. Parents shouted from behind fences. Sirens sounded off in every direction. Media outlets recorded everything. Infected students cried for help.

“What happened,” the mother asked. “Where’s my boy!? Where’s my son!?”

A woman pointed. “It’s her!”

Eyes turned, including the Police Chief. He hurried to her, like a wolf leading the pack, and spoke. “Are you Mrs. Mother?” he asked sternly. She nodded. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, ma’am… but Mr. Son, your son, has passed.” She froze. “He brought something to school today, and… a lot of kids got hurt.”

“What did he do!?”

“He had a seed in his backpack. He showed it to another student. Once the kid’s eyes laid upon it, a creature sprung up from inside. It attacked everyone, shooting spores throughout the classroom. The spores were so numerous, it was a like a red cloud hovering through the hallways. Any kid who inhaled a spore died, with each spore bursting forth a new creature akin to its ancestor.”

“Oh no! No no no no no!”

“We tried to contain the situation, but your son fought with my men. He wanted to protect the creature. He called it his friend. The situation was already out of hand. We had no other choice.”

She covered her mouth and sobbed as she listened. Her son was responsible for many victims. She could see the red on a classroom window. She couldn’t believe the production. How could they manufacture this lie so eloquently? It couldn’t have been her baby.

She ran toward the school, looking for her son. She was stopped immediately by police officers unraveling yellow tape across the doors and fences. No matter how much she fought, they could not let her through. Quickly, she was asked for ID and pictures of her son. Once she showed them, they came undone.

She was told the same details. Yet, she refused to believe them. Her son was not the criminal. He was a sweet boy who needed a friend. He was a good kid who struggled through bullying, rejection, teasing, and abandonment. It couldn’t have been her son. He was one of the kids that needed protection. They couldn’t have had to protect others from him.

Even as the doors opened, and the fumes of before suffocated her nose, she doubted the report. She almost choked as she took one step in front of the other. Each hall infested with branches that slithered like before. Each branch deceitfully painted in oleanders.

Finally, down a hall littered by body bags. She was escorted into a room to see her son. He was devoured by the spores they had told her of. From his belly screeched little buds with mouths like venus fly traps. They smirked, drooled, and whispered like their elder use to do. Even still, she could not figure out their words. She could not understand any of this. Her son was a good boy. He just needed a friend. Why did that come to mean his end?

She looked around, surrounded by buds. Little buds oozing green, yellow, and blood. Even at this age, their stench caused her to faint. She didn’t wake until her husband called with the familiar ringtone. By then, she was in an ambulance outside.

“What happened!?” he asked. “Where are you!?”

“I’m at the school,” she replied.

“Some cameramen pulled up to my job. What did that boy do!?”

All she could say was, “It’s true.”

She sat up from her bed and watched the families witness the devastation. Tears ran down their eyes. The air was littered with their cries. They couldn’t even see the oleanders blossoming at their feet. Little flowers trying to brighten their day, spreading like a fungus at the first sign of decay.

“Not my son,” she said. “He could never do this. He was troubled, but he wouldn’t do this. There’s no way he could’ve done this.”

“But he did…”

END