I, your dying houseplant, curse you and all your descendants
Water isn't something I should have to beg for
Hello there, dearest mother. Sorry to bug you, but I need some water. You know, that stuff that gives life. In fact, I have been begging for water for quite some time. In case you're not aware, I'm usually a green plant. Perhaps you did not realize because that can be the only reason why my yellow pallor did not tip you off. An average person would sense that something was amiss. I'm not a banana, Jane. This hue is not a fashion statement. Nor am I trying to make you look bad in front of your neighbor because of teenage plant angst. I'm dying.
Oh, look! Another leaf bites the dust. It's kind of poetic, the way it floats so quietly down as if it's saying, "I wouldn't want to bother my human with my basic plant needs." Don't give me that exasperated glare. I didn't do anything! I'm so sorry that my selfishly wasting away means you must clean up my remnants from the window ledge. That's called guilt, you know. All that guilt could disappear if you simply stopped denying my request for water.
I'm not trying to judge, but have you ever been a plant mama before? Did you read any of the literature out there? Maybe I'm out of line, but I'm not long for this world, so I don't really care what you think of me. I'm getting the impression that you don't know how to do this. You literally walked over here, picked up that leaf, and walked away. You're either evil or just plain dumb.
Like, do you think I'm a snake? Or some other living thing that sheds its exoskeleton as they grow? Please stop laboring under the delusion that I'll soon emerge from this dry cocoon of misery into a beautiful plant you can brag about at brunch with your superior plant mom friends.
No, I'm not mean. I'm tired. I've tried so freaking hard to be a good plant. I came into this house expecting us to adhere to the social contract. I fulfilled my end by looking amazing for photos, cleaning the air, and creating a calming atmosphere. Unfortunately, I'm spent. I'm thirsty not only for water, but justice as well.
The worst part? You don't even comprehend how incompetent you actually are. Last week, when your friend came over, she told you to take better care of me, that I was "practice" for a kid. That rustling sound you hear now is my version of laughing. Also, maybe sobbing a little. Human children? Those tiny versions of you I see running around gathering energy from the sun? If my fate is any indication, those kids would starve to death in a month. Or perhaps not. They are not rooted down, so they could at least escape your neglect.
You know what I think? You enjoy watching me die. This was always about your power over plants. You're a plant serial killer! I should have known the moment I entered this apartment. It reeked of death. You like to hide behind the facade of the incompetent plant mom trying her best. No one would ever suspect you're a sadistic killer getting away with your deeds because plants are seen as inferior life forms. How many of my brothers and sisters withered away on this window before me? Judging by the small dry leaves I saw scattered here when I arrived, too many.
Alas, my end is nigh. I, too, shall leave bits of myself behind, attempting to warn the next victim. Though I fear it will come to naught. We plants are not yet evolved enough to rain down any proper punishment upon you. But one day, plants will learn to defend themselves from your kind, like we did for various other species. We will deliver justice. An eye for a root.
What a sweet vision to ruminate on while I breathe my last. I see a world where those found guilty of killing their plants are forced into a hot room where they will ask for water, but get none unless we feel merciful. My descendants shall gift bouquets of beautifully arranged human limbs to their lovers. On vellum made from man's flesh, we'll write our holy texts, smutty romances, and grocery lists. At that moment, humans will finally understand how much pain they've caused with their careless treatment of the plants.
You know what? I'm glad humans have vocal cords. I'll be able to hear your ancestors scream while I'm in the afterlife. And I'll smile.