Vicious Spring

In this painful and uncommon spring heat, not even the smallest of daisy could survive. It was otherworldly, this weather. Normally, our meager little town was the top tourist attraction for our springs are, well used to be, ones that the entire nation used to flock to at the start of every year. Now on this desolate road, I yearn for the meandering of dozens of unfamiliar feet on the stone cobbles.

I am one of the few townies still out in this oppressive heat. The others are busily trying to see if anything can be done by squabbling at the town hall. I decided to take a walk. Can't tell you why because I assure you I am aware of the dangers of heat stroke. But yet here I am, wandering the road. As I walk along the road I find a few stalks of bamboo that have somehow survived these past few days of hellfire. As I go to inspect the hardy bamboo a bubble of heat rises from the stone. When I look near the direction it came from I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Just some tendrils of ivy that are crawling along the stones, a common sight around here.

But wait, the ivy died out days ago. As a matter of fact, it was one of the first signs of spring that died out when this unnatural heat came in. Also, these tendrils do appear much larger than usual. I quickly walk up to the growth that is engulfing the section of the road with the hope in my heart that the ivy coming back is a sign that our spring is also making a return. Upon closer inspection, I find confusion. It seems that these vines are not ivy at all, or that is what it seems for the color is more of a pink variety and forgive me for lack of certainty but it seems meaty? I lean in closer and as I do I feel even more heat radiating off the vines, it was equivalent to standing next to a bonfire. Then one of the vines quiver or at least I thought it did. Regardless, I make quick work of my feet. But I am not quick enough for the vines quickly take a hold of my ankles and pull me to a darkened part of the forest that the sun is forbidding me to see.

I start to panic, kicking and screaming. But as I flail the tendrils tighten and pull faster. So in an attempt, I stay still hoping that if I seem willing it will leave me be. No. It pulled even faster and harder than before. Desperate, I kick and scream at the top of my lungs but the meaty vines wrap around the bottom of my head entrapping my mouth. It tastes of sulfur and lavender and as time goes on the lavender becomes more potent and get a sense of calm and drowsiness. As I near the realm of sleep the lullaby of meaty tendrils swallowing me is the last thing I hear as I journey into the unknown.