Who's To Blame?

There's a responsibility implicit in every act. By choosing to engage in life, we accept that our choices will have consequences, even when we consciously deny them. We are of the world and we are defined by the actions we take as surely as by those we don't.

This isn't about blame or guilt. Such concepts are constructs of society, attributes of culture. Animals probably don't understand guilt. Plants certainly don't, nor rocks. But they live by the same rules of causation that all of us do.

So yes, Mother, I broke the dish, but is it really my fault?

No Paradise

We left our gear on the shore and braved the jungle. Verdant, mossy plants, swollen fruits, normal snakes and spiders. All expected. But that smell. Like sulfur. Why? As earth and rocks piled up it permeated everything. It coated our hair and settled into the weave of our clothes. Warnings went unheeded. When we summited, it was too late. The crag gave way to a cavernous cleft. It glared a stony glare. Then the ground shuttered. Then it trembled. In those final fleeing moments, choked in smoke, death raining down, we understood the island's ancient name: The Great Giant's Buttocks.

From Guest Contributor Nicholas De Marino

Ingredient

Of course Mickey was very honored that the great wizard Merlin asked him, an apprentice, to fetch an important ingredient for his secret potion.

He rode for days to get to the desert hills, where he encountered a wolf’s nest, five cubs and their mother. Without hesitation he pulled his dagger and turned her offspring into orphans.

Wolf’s milk was a peculiar ingredient Merlin requested for his magic potion, he thought.

On his way back, he saw plants he had never seen before.

‘I should bring some home and who knows, Merlin could find some use for these too.’From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The Botanist

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Settled at the picnic table, I was teaching my three-year old granddaughter, Natalie, the process of planting seeds. Surrounded by supplies: seeds, cardboard egg cartons, a bag of soil, a big spoon and a spray bottle filled with water, Natalie carefully filled each section of the egg carton with soil. All the while I explained to her how seeds grow into plants if they have sun, water and food. I believed that she thoroughly understood. She was seriously working.

Grandpa joined us and asked, “What are you doing?”

“We are growing eggs!” Natalie boasted.

I’d better wait till she’s four.

From Guest Contributor Patricia Gable

Crimes And Misdemeanors

Nature Submission:

Mike claimed to feel bad about the slugs, but what options did he have? If they insisted on eating his spinach plants, it was only right that he eradicate the menace. The more humane methods hadn't worked, so beer traps it was.

Well, maybe methods is an exaggeration. He really just tried one option, sprinkling egg shells around the roots. And he'd probably been a little careless about setting a perimeter, making it easy for the slugs to avoid them on their path to leafy sustenance.

But any accusations that Mike enjoyed torturing the slugs is insulting and completely unfounded.

From Guest Contributor Ally Petersen

A New Home

NATURE SUBMISSION:

“Hi, we’re the new foster parents. Are the little ones ready?”

The woman who opened the door has tears in her eyes.

“You’re early.”

“We were anxious to see them.”

“Promise me you’ll take care of them.”

“Um… certainly, madam.”

“I’ll get my husband.”

A man comes to the door, carrying a basket and then handing it over.

“Is everything all right with the missus? She seems a bit upset. She IS aware we will end up eating them, right?”

“Sssst. No need to remind her of that.”

“Maybe you should consider to stop giving away free tomato plants, then.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Memorials

Through the fog and overgrowth that chokes the front yard, an eruption of tulips grows on either side of the doorway, an invitation to visitors that stopped visiting decades ago. They are the only splash of color on the otherwise gray facade of the crumpling structure that used to be a house.

Tulips once required cold weather to survive. Somehow these plants learned to adapt, and are now in flower nearly year round. A stark contrast to the failure of civilization all around them. Were anyone still alive who could understand, there's a metaphor to be found in those plants.

Bountiful Harvest

“Beautiful garden,” a man interjected. “Looks like a good harvest.”

Judy paused from pulling out weeds. “Not really. July was too rainy. Zucchinis are rotting on the plants and maggots have infested my apple tree. It’ll be a chore to salvage what’s edible.”

“Do you need help? I have lots of time being on my own.”

“Sorry, it’s getting dark,” Judy answered.

The man turned around and started walking.

“Wait!” Judy called out. “Pot roast is almost ready. Would you like to join me for supper? I too live alone.”

Harvest became bountiful with the start of a new friendship.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Her work has been published at: Nailpolish Stories, 50-Word Stories, 100 word story, 101 Words, Boston Literary Magazine, From the Depths (Haunted Waters Press), ShortbreadStories, SixWordMemoirs, and Espresso Stories.

Chameleons And Bacon

The chameleon's evolutionary advantage lies in its ability to blend in with its surroundings. Whether it's in order to hunt prey or avoid being hunted, I'm not too sure. I'm not much of a scientist. I don't even know if chameleons are herbivores or eat insects.

It's kind of weird to think that some lizards actually eat plants and stuff. I know they do, though, because a lot of dinosaurs did, and so do turtles.

Thinking about lizards makes me glad I'm a vegetarian. And thinking about bacon makes me glad it's a vegetable because bacon is my favorite food.

The Allergy

Last Saturday, I woke up to discover I was allergic to the color green.

I experienced a burning sensation and debilitating pain as I watered my plants, ate a salad for lunch, and finally mowed the lawn in the afternoon. That last one led to a trip to the emergency room.

The allergist was the first to diagnose me. She said it wasn't as unusual as I might think to be allergic to color. She mentioned a friend who had been allergic to yellow his whole life.

The thing is, as Superman, it was bad enough with the kryptonite thing.