Plants are not conscious of the things that go on around them. They are just there and as long as they are on your property you can do anything you wish with them, like display them in your house or sell them as lumber. They have no senses, no thoughts, no voice, no feelings, and they have never experienced pain, right?

Wrong. Plants have existed for millions and millions of years, long before even the idea of humans came into anyone's mind. And as a result, to compare our technology to theirs would be like comparing Rhode Island to Alaska. Plants know the truth of some things that our scientists have switched around and scrambled up. For example, in science in elementary school you learned that some dinosaurs were herbivores and ate nothing but plants, but if a plant heard that he would probably burst out laughing (and yes a plant can laugh). The reason they would find that so ridiculous is because they know the truth. The truth being that the plants were the ones to eat the dinosaurs. That plants were predators, and that dinosaurs shrunk back into the shadows to hide or ran for their lives when they came near.

But times change and as the dinosaurs slowly died off, one after another, the plants were forced to change too. Since there was nothing for them to feed on anymore, they adapted and learned how to make their own food through a process we call photosynthesis. They lived on through what every other organism died through, and for many, many years their society thrived and they lived in absolute peace. They had governments, languages, schools, jobs, religion, etc. After they evolved it took them awhile to become comfortable with their new way of life that was so different from that of their first. It was then, right when they were all content and happy and living in paradise when they were thrown completely off balance again. It was in that era when the first members of the human species appeared.

At first the plants were frightened by them, but then their fear turned into curiosity when they saw how harmless and primitive humans were. They wanted to observe the alien beings from close up. So they approached the humans with peace offerings and taught them how to speak and make shelters of metal, rock, soil, and glass and simple forms of artwork and tools and many other useful things. The humans, after being taught these things started thinking for themselves and coming up with ideas of their own. Although the plants had taught them a little they were still ignorant, and if you put that together with the fact that they were paranoid by nature you might partly understand their reason for doing what they would do in the future. Instead of being grateful to the plants, they grew fearful. Plants were different from them and so much wiser! What if the plants attacked them and made them slaves? With these thoughts in mind the humans began preparing for a war that the plants had no intention of starting. The humans made rough variations of their tools as weapons and even though they were not complex, the only thing that mattered was that they were sharp.

The humans attacked the plants in the dark while they were sleeping. They killed whole villages and towns. Blades of grass watched as their friends were trampled, and young pine trees saw their parents being torn limb from limb and their siblings decapitated while screaming such cries of agony that they were too high pitched for the human ear. They kept hacking and cutting for weeks and weeks, massacring families like merciless butchers. The plants had slowly grown less fierce over the millennia and the humans' knives were not dull, so they could do nothing. When the humans finally stopped, the plants complied with their wishes and became immobile and acted dull and unconscious. They then swore an oath that they would have revenge on humans no matter how long it took.

The heavy rain beat down on the roof and the lightning flashed. A little boy jumped out of bed and ran into his parents' room like someone was chasing him. "Dad! Mom I heard them again, the voices," he whispered, frightened. A hand snaked out of the bundle of blankets to turn on a lamp and his mother's head appeared. "It was only a nightmare, Gabe. If you want me to tuck you in again-" "No, listen," he interrupted. "It was only a nightmare-," his mother insisted only to be interrupted again by her son. "Listen." This time she sighed and fell silent and listened. She didn't hear anything other than the storm. "That's just the wind in the trees. Come on, I'll put you back to bed." The boy followed her to his room looking very disappointed.

Seven year old Gabriel Anderson lay on his bed an hour later staring out of the window. He had short black hair and brown eyes so light that they seemed gold, like the color of a hawk's. He was neither abnormally smart for his age, nor stupid; instead, he was perceptive. He noticed things that no one else noticed, but because of his age no one listened to or believed him. For example: sometimes when a gust of wind or a breeze drifted by him he could hear conversations drift by with them and somehow, he didn't know how, he could tell that they were not human. He also noticed that sometimes fallen leaves were arranged to look like a design or picture, and that the way that the sap dripped down the oak tree outside of his window, made it look as if the tree was crying. The strangest of these things was that he noticed plants move around from place to place. He would look at a rose bush once and then the next time he looked it would be a yard away from where it was before. The rain had stopped by now, so he knew it was safe to open his window without getting wet. The cool wind rushed against his face as he heard those nonhuman voices.

"...It's night. They're asleep. We should attack now," said a young, shrill voice that sounded like someone in charge. "Not yet. There is one still watching," said an ancient voice that was so deep it sounded like the low rumble of a dog's growl. "The boy? He's just a sapling. No one would listen to him if he said anything," replied the first voice. Then he continued, "I know what you are thinking, but the boy isn't a problem. He's just different from the rest. He sees things others don't and he is very open minded." "Yes," said the old one. "But so are all children until they grow up, it is then when they become dangerous. And trust me all children grow up." "Even so, don't harm the boy," the first voice insisted. His branches twitched abruptly to the left in what looked like a signal or command. Then suddenly a mass of plants lurched forward.

Gabe had just heard this and was puzzling over it, oblivious that something was creeping up behind him like a hungry cat perusing an innocent mouse until it pounced onto his back. He looked at his unknown attacker and suddenly realized what it was. It was mother's fern plant? He yelled out in stupefaction and bewilderment, but the sound was muffled by a long spring green tendril that was held over his mouth to silence him. He was led outside by the plant, his hands tied behind his back with the strangest, strongest rope he had ever seen. When he saw what was on his back lawn he fainted. An army of plants was marching, marching on roots and feet all around as far off as you could see. Some were barking orders and others were following them. All over the world plants were avenging the brutal massacres of 9000 B. C.

After getting their long awaited revenge the plants and humans came to a truce. They would even become friends and allies in the years to come. Gabriel Anderson grew up to become an ambassador for them, and for many more years there was peace. But life has many unpredictable twists and turns, and they were once again thrown off of balance. That was when the first spaceship of blue aliens from one of the moons of Jupiter landed on earth.