When I first came into my current home, I remember the world being bathed in shades of pink and purple and blue and green. Doll houses and spaceships and racecars. Shrieks and laughter and cartoons and sizzling bacon after the sun rises. Wrestle matches and board games and sword fights. I was sat near the window with curtains that opened with the sunrise and not once was I ever hungry.
But one morning when the days were long and the nights were short, it all changed. I was 12 seasons old when it all grew dark. Curtains didn't open anymore and I was seldom fed. I grew weak and drooped with the mere weight of my leaves. I grew pale and lost color. But I wasn't the only one who did so. The whole world grew dark and quiet, as did the person living with me. She starved and welted. She howled and oozed water at night.
I slowly began to realize that the other person living here never showed up anymore. It was now only my person and two older people in a different province.
YOU ARE READING
A Bud's Eye
Contoan almost story of the loss of a brother told by a plant extra-short, extra-quick