The Plants’ Cell

by John Nyman

Gearic was a man who led a simple life. He lived on a small island and worked as an architect. Since the island’s city was growing, caught in the web of technological expansion, there was always work for Gearic, and he made a decent living helping the local builders plan their construction projects. He lived just outside the city with his family, in a moderate house, and occupied his time with news of the world abroad and with quiet walks through the paths alongside the edge of the island’s deep tropical jungle. Gearic’s life was very stable, one of few surprises, and he had settled nicely into the situation.

It was one sunny day, an unfortunate day, at the end of the dry season, when Gearic decided to go out alone on a walk. Normally, the neighbourhood was quiet and peaceful, with a wonderful view of the jungle valley. On this unfortunate day, though, the path was being watched by a group of strange people, invisible as silent shadows behind trees and lying in the plants, until one stepped in front of Gearic as he walked along the ridge overlooking the green jungle canopy.

The person was strange, and perhaps not even so much a person as a creature; it almost appeared to be some kind of ape. It looked like a man, but was incredibly hairy, and wore torn animal skins around its body. It was short as well, and scruffy, and horribly emaciated, its heavily tanned and hairy skin clutching tightly to the thin ribs across its chest. Its face was much like a human’s, but with stockier features, and it had long, rough, filthy hair dangling from its head. It held out a walking stick with a long arm and slender fingers, and hobbled towards Gearic with an arched posture and a look of curiosity. Gearic, not knowing what to do, remained eerily still as the creature poked his stomach lightly with the walking stick, and shifted his curious gaze to the different parts of Gearic’s body, many of which he also prodded. Gearic was oblivious to the creature’s mission.

After it was satisfied, the animal’s look of curiosity turned to a sly look of false indifference, and shifted its eyes subtly to either side in clearly defined rhythm, but by the time Gearic caught on it was too late. He caught the creature giving one final message to the trees at the sides of the wide dirt path, but when he looked him in the eye, the creature let out a quiet snarl, furrowed its eyes into those of a ferocious predator, and opened its mouth into a sick grin to reveal two rows of yellow, blood-stained canines, and a long forked tongue. On animal impulse, Gearic raised his fists to prepare for a battle, but with lightening reflex the animal hit him on the cheek with the blunt end of the stick. The hit was hard, and had cracked the walking stick across Gearic’s face. As he recoiled and clutched the paining area, he suddenly realized his dire mistake when a chorus of snarls and a melody of shrill war cries rang through the leaves. When Gearic opened his eyes after reeling from the pain of the blow, he was terrified to find vines wrapped securely around both of his ankles. In shock and reverting to his battle instincts, he flailed his arms wildly, but the tribe had already caught them with loops of vine that were pulled sharply against Gearic’s wrists by the creatures, who were laughing at the sides of the path, their sharp bright teeth glimmering in the scant rays of sun. Gearic was promptly hit with another blow, but by then his hands had been tied completely and he could do nothing but scream in agony in the hopes that somebody would arrive to rescue him. In real life, though, he knew this was never the case, and the group of creatures surrounded him, tied his hands and feet to a long pole, and gagged him with a bundle of vine. They now held the pole horizontally, still cackling at their helpless prisoner, and Gearic was hit with a strong blunt blow to the head from a direction he could not see. Defeated and completely lacking of any auxiliary energy to combat the effect of the blow, Gearic fell out of consciousness, the view from his eyes becoming black.

Among the senseless world, there was the feeling of a continual thud, an up and down of small feet moving through the jungle. Occasionally, Gearic would feel a moist leaf brush up against him, as he hung thoughtless from the bar, carried by the strange creatures on either end. Sometimes he would still hear their cackling, but all the dreamy thoughts compiled with the grim beat of the death march. Though he could not sense, Gearic, after an amount of time he did not know, felt the thudding of the trek stop, and the cackling disappear. At this moment he woke up.

Gearic opened his eyes and stood upright from his position on the ground, and looked around. He was in a small, peculiar cell. It was a tiny room with heavy stone walls, a heavy locked door on one side and a small rectangular barred window at the top of the other, through which a grated display of warm sunlight ran through from the morning sky. The room was empty of moving beings, however, every surface and wall of the room was covered and recovered with plants. Plants of all kinds swarmed the room; vines, bushes, moss, and leafy ferns covered the stone ground, trees sprung up out of the corners and covered the walls completely with their branches, that sprawled out over the ceiling and walls draping fruits and leaves. The entire room was packed with these plants; Gearic could not take a step without walking on moss, and could barely stretch his arms without becoming entangled in the mass of tree branches. The room was almost like a greenhouse in terms of its inhabitants, but also a prison cell at the same time.

While Gearic certainly found the plants unusual, they did not contribute to the discomfort and fear he soon developed. Plants could not harm anyone, at least that is what he thought, and they would only provide decoration, if anything at all. There were other things that troubled Gearic much more deeply. He stood straight, unable to lie or sit down among the tangle of weeds, and remained quiet, deep in thought. The emotions that ran through him were of uncertainty; he was trapped, locked away from the outside world with no direction, no given way of leaving, no knowing when the situation would change. He had lost everything of his old life, and as his thoughts advanced, he became worried for his own being, meaning and sanity. His moments of living had been made drastically different, and he knew that he had to try to adjust, since he would have to live life in the plant cell.

Gearic’s depression, while deep and horrible, was still only an uncertainty. Gearic had not yet felt the fear for his life, the perpetual knowledge that something would go horribly wrong; at that point, it was simply the realization that something had gone wrong. Gearic had no idea of what was to come. He stood still for many hours in the middle of the room, surrounded entirely by the sprawling plant life. The air was hot, and there was no moisture to be found anywhere. As a result, the plants were dry, looming, but dry and dusty, like the walls of a forgotten ghost town. This is partly why Gearic ignored the plants, as they, like the buildings back in the city, showed no sign of life. As Gearic stood, delving deeper into thought about the misery that was his present, and silently cursing his situation as the worst that could possibly befall any being, the heated air of the cell touched his skin, and he began to sweat. First small beads formed, then they combined to form larger ones, which then dripped gradually down the still surfaces of Gearic’s body, until one rolled off and finally fell onto the leaf of a fern on the floor beneath.

When the drop hit, the dry leaf sucked it up entirely. After it had dissipated, the layer of dust that covered the leaf was absorbed with the water, and the leaf turned a bright green. Gearic watched the plant, whose actions seemed just a tad unpredicted, out of boredom. Even less predictable, however, was what happened next. Suddenly, the leaf shot up front the floor, while Gearic’s eyes popped wide open at the sight, and in a split second the leaf’s stalk had latched itself around Gearic’s head sitting high above, forcing his bewildered eyes shut. Gearic screamed in pain as the grip grew tighter and tighter, rose his arms to the vine, clutched it, and pulled against the horrific attacker with all his might. The vine struggled fearlessly against Gearic’s wet palms, continually devouring precious moisture to continue its spontaneous assault, while Gearic’s body arched under the strength it exerted. Finally, Gearic stretched the vine strenuously away from his mouth and yelled in agony at the tightness digging into his skull, until eventually the stalk broke. Pieces of green vine flew everywhere about the room, dried out, and stopped the assault, while the piece still lying in Gearic’s palms flailed like an enormous insect larva until Gearic through it away with intense fear.

Gearic stood completely still, except for the heavy pulse of his breathing, looking with terror at his bloody hands, that were tensed as stiff claws facing him. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his mouth wide open in astonishment, and his skin dripping with the sweat of terror. His eyes slowly adjusted from his hands to the living plants that lay all around him, but before his weakened mind could draw the obvious conclusions, a few drops of sweat caught his eye as they fell from his arms to the moss on the floor. Gearic’s mind raced to think of a plan, but it and he were trapped, and in another split second green moss had engulfed his leg as it moved to run. The next drop of sweat tapped effortlessly against the plants and his other leg was tied up by leafy vines. Gearic screamed, he yelled in agony, and he flailed his arms towards the living walls of the tiny enclosure, but he was helpless to the plants’ tightening grip, and was pulled off his feet and to the floor. As the plants continued to drink they pulled Gearic’s legs into their tangled mass, and as Gearic struggled against their green layers of life, they were exposed to the moisture of his sleeveless arms, and so they shot up, and pulled against Gearic’s body harder and harder. Gearic, his mouth now gagged by the possessed vines, flailed his only free hand and, finding only one thing to clutch, grabbed the branch of a tree that overhung the cell. It, feasting on the water dripping off his glands, sprung to life and wrapped itself around his arm, pulling with all its might. Gearic was suddenly caught in a battle of the ravenous plants, with the bottom dwellers pulling from below and the branch from above. Eventually parts of Gearic’s body began to break free of the ground, and as soon as he was again allowed to open his mouth he emitted a fierce dying battle cry and fought to pull himself out of the mess. Eventually he broke free, and was pulled up into the air with his legs dangling down off of the tree branch that gripped his arm. With his one free hand, at the tail end of his scream, he grabbed the branch with all of his strength and tore, first shredding his skin against the bark as the plant clutched, sucking in the sweat. He screamed and tore again, and this time broke the branch with a dry hand. The tree recoiled, and at the same time the plants of the floor shot up like fire, but dehydrated and stopped suddenly, peering up at Gearic with a dead menace.

Gearic peered back, terrified, standing perfectly still to make sure no more moisture fell to the dry weeds. His mind raced, and he soon discovered the paradox he was in. The plants looked back, waiting, all the time, and Gearic stood still, terrified, his mind blanking as the seconds passed in ill silent calm. His body was bleeding and bruised, and all of his memories left him. All that he knew about home, about life, escaped, except for the knowledge of the plants’ cell, the world he was bound by. He had only one mission, to keep the ravenous creatures at bay, to withhold the moisture they desired at all costs, and to save his weary life if they should ever be fed. To do this, he stood, silent and blank, tensed, keeping the sweat inside him, and thinking of nothing but the plants. He tried with all his might to avert their wrath, but waited also for the inevitable. Seconds of this existence turned to minutes, minutes to hours, and Gearic’s body writhed in the agonizing terror that shook through it. It was calm, nearly lifeless, trapped in a cage of hungry lions and subject to infinite torture. He stood like this, breathing deeply, his heart pumping fast and vigorously, while his mind lost all track of time.

Gearic stood, awaiting the inevitable, with no plans but to stay alive. As the hours passed he wanted to scream, but the shambles of his mind told him to remain. He wanted to move his legs, but they stood erect like statues. He wanted to move his arms and scratch the skin under the bead of sweat that ran down his face, but he couldn’t. He watched it, cross-eyed, trickle down his nose and finally fall onto a tree shoot below. It sprang, and he, poised, yelled a war cry finally and rushed to attack it. It wrapped around his fists and he struggled with a fierce snarl against the faceless attacker. Sweat sprayed everywhere and the tangle awakened, latching on to all parts of him while his veins and muscles built up into a hulking mass of flesh. The struggle continued as all parties writhed, the plants in ferocity and Gearic in fear, until finally the leaves were beaten back, and Gearic was left to stand again, in vain attempt to save his energy from the plants and their malice.

Although time stopped for the combatants of the plants’ cell, their struggle became routine. Gearic would stand in perpetual terror, weakening every second, in preparation for the battle, where his conscious mind would cast off the petrifying horror for seconds to save its own life. The time wore on, for days it may have lasted, with nightmare struggles occurring too often for Gearic to recall. When he was not fighting he stood awake, his heart pulsing abnormally, his lungs pumping slowly and deeply, and his muscles tensing in anticipation. He didn’t eat, he didn’t sleep, and he didn’t drink, avoiding the horrible moisture at all costs, he didn’t even move, only watched. He watched the plants on all sides of him, seeming to inch towards him, ready to pounce on any water that might drop, until they were centimetres from his eyelids and staring back, licking their lips. It was agony, it was eternal, and it was all Gearic knew.

Gearic didn’t sleep over the days, although he did dream. While awake and staring, the shards of his mind made up thoughts and broadcast them through Gearic. They were merciless though, nightmares of death, and dreams of nothing, as Gearic had forgotten his old life. One day, the dreams reminded Gearic of the worst thing he could know, the calendar, and they told him the monsoon was coming. After one fight, Gearic found himself staring through the grated window, and if he knew nothing else, he knew that at any time water could come rushing through after the rainfall, awakening all of the plants at once and the murderous rage that yearned to escape and activate on him. His fear deepened then, as he knew, no matter how many battles he drew, he would die. His stagnant legs would give out, he would fall to sleep on the moss, or the monsoon water would come like the reaper, something would happen. His mind broke apart into more shambles, and he could barely fend off the plants with the strength he had left. Hunger, betraying thirst, and tiredness overtook him and he weakened, despite all of his attempts. His battle cries transformed themselves into whimpers, the whimpers of a dog that has taken too many beating from his master, and all life in him threatened to give way to the forbidden comfort of death.

The days wore on, droning death as silent whispers into Gearic’s ears, renewing the moisture in his sweat glands and the rage of the terrible plants. All the while he waited, waited for the day of the flood. When it finally occurred, Gearic was staring towards the door of the cage, when he heard a noise, the first he had heard for hours, but one he could not remember, and then felt the awful water splash against the back of his shirt. He turned and saw it rush in almost instantly, just as poised to hate it as the plants were to love it, and they too sprang to life at the bountiful gushing. The cell was more horribly vibrant then ever, as the whole thing quaked with the flooding like a living entity on its own, all rocking after the weary prisoner. Gearic trusted his only remaining intellect and made the one move he could, a jump. He jumped towards the barred window through which the water sprang, but was caught in midair by the tangling web of plants that had shifted towards him in one powerful entity. They grabbed every part of him, latching to him in every form and weighing him down with unbelievable pressure. Just before the plants were to pull Gearic apart into bloody chunks to split among them, he grabbed with both hands the bars of the tiny window. The plants pulled with all their might, in unison and with the same terrible purpose, while Gearic’s hands gripped in agony to the bars of the window of the stone wall, that pulled back with all its might, trying to remain intact. The rest of Gearic's body was covered completely by the plants, that had fully filled the centre of the room as they sapped the sweet vein of water, and though ripples of fear screamed through Gearic’s flesh, it could not move, Gearic could not scream for help, and the vines were wrapped so tightly around his skull that he could not think.

With his last ounce of energy Gearic shoved his hand through the bars of the window and reached around towards the other side of the stone wall. The plants, now bursting with power, shot towards it fast, but with brute intelligence, crashed through he wall, breaking it and increasing the water flow into the dungeon. Gearic shoved his hand further, and the wall broke more as the tentacles of the plants sprang through. He clawed his way against the current, and the wall continued to break, piece by piece, while the water flowed more. The wall kept breaking, the rain kept pouring, and the water kept flowing until the river that ran outside the plants’ cell flowed with murky fury past it. The current now held Gearic in place, yet the plants, bright green and submerged in the lifeblood water, pulled even harder. Gearic was almost torn apart, and the remainder of his energy focused entirely on maintaining his bodily integrity. The tug of war continued mercilessly, with Gearic as the rope, until the fibres of the plants literally burst with water, and their overly exerted strength gave way one tentacle at a time. The plants broke their grip on Gearic’s mouth, but his reactions were blanked, and he did not speak. Instead, his body continued to fight destruction. At last, the current of the river won, and Gearic’s body broke free suddenly of the plants like some resilient rag doll, and was swept aboveground into the current of the raging monsoon river. Rain poured down from above, and silent jungle plants loomed as walls over the banks of the river as Gearic, still alive, was rushed past, laughing, his sanity vainly trying to reverse the damage.