The powerful urge gripped it from all sides, smothering all; every thought and feeling, yet The Plant felt nothing strange, no peculiarity at all. Even if there was a slight irregularity, there is no doubt that The Plant would turn a blind eye to it, being utterly enthralled by the overwhelming tasks that The Plant felt it had to undertake. It had to consume all sustenance, store all energy; these were the things that came before all else, clouding the mind, tearing down all signs of intelligence, of rational thought and feeling. Yet The Plant questioned nothing, for it did not sense any oddity, nothing at all. All it knew was that it had to consume and hoard energy, The Plant believed, beyond a sliver of a doubt, that nothing else mattered because what it was doing was right, right for The Plant, right for the world. Right for everything. Just right.
* * * *
Vague whispers plagued The Plants mind, slashing minuscule lacerations through the ever-thickening fog of overbearing instinct that possessed it's mind. Thoughts laced with torment swirled round and round, sparking powerful memories that had been smothered in darkness. What has become of myself, was I not once a great and intelligent individual? Did I not scorn and mock the mere thought of being overtaken by instinct and losing all rational thought? It was as if a great and terrible war was raging inside The Plants now-torn mind, ripping and severing, relentlessly devouring it's prey; The Plants inner self, its true being, beyond physical form and appearance. It's true self was a complex and beautiful thing, as is all life. But The Plants real personality, and the things that make it itself, might be lost forever, ferociously burnt to a pile of pathetic ashes by instinct itself.
A great, almost impenetrable wall of smothering power lay between The Plant's true self and the corrupted, poisoned shell that instinct had enslaved. Shreds of the true plant would penetrate the grand wall, spiking the ocean of overwhelming instinct. But many of those shreds would be disintegrated by a unyielding, dominating power, evaporating completely from The Plant's tormented, unraveling mind.
*****
The Plant lay sprawled across the undergrowth, seemingly dead to the world, The Plant's aura of life appearing to be butchered. In truth it was still living, though not in optimal conditions. Its very own mentality was trapped in a massacre; instinct's ferocious, swarming armies of wrath swooping down upon the residents of The Plant's mind, who were caught unprepared and unaware.
YOU ARE READING
The Evolution of The Silenced
Science FictionDoes it ever seem like the wind is whispering to you, as it flows through all that is? Those who have learnt some of the true ways of the world may know the truth on that matter. That it is not the wind but the plant life that speaks the unspeakable...
