Saturday, June 30, 2007

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.

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