Roses Are Red

by Ari Collins


I awoke wrapped in vines, remembering the meter-wide flower’s nauseating scent. A smaller version with petalled teeth was inches away, swelling. Agonizing minutes later, it scraped my cheek… then fell.

“They eat slowly,” said my machete-wielding co-pilot. “Ship’s this way.”

Following, I noticed a tiny bud growing from the base of his skull.