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This was something written during a dry spell just so I could practice writing something. It is a different sort of transformation story, with an inanimate transformation
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Gerry slid the delicate stem between his toes. The shoot felt cool to his skin, and he sighed happily. With a curl of a toe, he dug a claw into the ground, tearing the stem with a satisfying pop and bruising the leaves underneath his pads. He bent down and pulled the flower from his paw and sniffed.
This was one of those flowers, it turned out, with more color than scent. He pressed the vibrant yellow and orange petals against his nose and inhaled as deeply as he dared, coughing on the pollen and sneezing at the gentle tickling of petal against flesh. He could just barely make out an earthy aroma with a hint of sweetness. He twisted the stem between his thumb and finger, enjoying the sensation as it rolled over his toughened skin. He pricked it with a clawed finger and rubbed some of the sticky fluid on his palm. This had a more definite smell, and not as pleasant.
Ah, how wonderful it was to be out here on a pleasantly cool summer morning! The dew made the rich soil of his favorite resting place more springy, and his paws sank a little more deeply into the ground as he bounced over the field of wildflowers. Specks of blue, purple, and the occasional yellow and red were scattered over the grassy clearing, glinting in the filtered morning sun and filling the air with a subtle yet potent smell of energy and life. The rains had been a blessing.
He stretched, digging his toes as deep into the ground as far they would go, which was quite far compared to the last few dry days, and imagined his claws as a shovel burrowing into the ground. It was quite cool and damp, and gave way to his toes easily. He lifted his arms toward the sun, and arched his back and his tail. The sun inched higher in the sky, suddenly flooding the clearing with light. It shone warm on his fur and he basked in its rays. On a whim, he tore off his shirt and tossed it on the ground beside him, so he could take in more of the lifegiving light.
He stretched again and gave out a muffled, happy groan. This was life. This was living.
It was when Gerry decided it was time to head back home that he discovered problems. His paws wouldn't move. He tried to lift a leg, but it had no interest in leaving its place in the cool ground, which he realized he could not feel quite as well. His paws had grown used to the temperature perhaps. He tried the other one and found the same problem. Very odd. He pulled up hard, and pain ran up his legs.
He snapped his eyes open and gasped.
His paws had sunk in up to his ankles. And they looked discolored near the ground, sort of greenish and tough, resembling his pawpads in texture. It was just a trick of the morning light in the dew. He tried to lift again, softer this time but prolonged, to wedge his feet out from wherever they'd been stuck, but to no avail.
That was when he noticed the green tint was traveling up his legs and flattening out his fur. A cold numbness followed the transition from mottled browns to green, tingling uncomfortably as it passed over his groin and above his waist. The grass around him seemed to whisper in an unintelligible, haunting voice, as if hidden in an echo of the wind rustling through the clearing. The flowers and grasses around him seemed to grow taller at a disorienting rate, first reaching his knees, then his hips and chest. He rubbed his head with a paw.
His paw was also greening. His palm pushed into his fingers and flattened out, taking on the form of a broad leaf. The change spread up his arms, widening them and thinning them out, until he was almost sure he could see the ground through their translucence. The flower he had been holding fell away, as his paws were no longer able to grasp it.
As his chest gave way to the greening effect, his muscles lost their tone, and he felt both stiff and weak, as the coolness from what had been his legs, now a single fused piece, numbed his stomach and heart. It was about this time that he noticed he was no longer breathing. He tried to inhale, but he no longer had the muscle or organs required for it.
And not even half a minute had passed since he first noticed the greening of his legs.
The cold sensation then welled into his head, beginning as a pressure at the back of his neck which forced his gaze skyward. He did not notice as his head mushroomed and exploded with petals, as his eyes had disappeared, and he had no awareness of his scent, as his nose had blended in with the rest. His thoughts slowed, and any concerns faded away into simpler matters, like the warmth of the sun against his leaves, and the coolness of the water at his roots.
The flower enjoyed the sun, and it drank greedily of the light above. It was aware of periodic fluctuations in temperature, whether from clouds or nightfall, and of the pulling of water through its roots. It did not know how much time had passed, whether it had been minutes or hours or even days. "Time" was a concern of higher-order beings that did not know how to exist in the moment. Taking in the sun and the water, and from them bringing forth life, was all that mattered.
But it was sometime during this that the rustling of the wind through the grass, the haunting whisper, took on recognizable form. Grow, said the murmur. Live. Thrive. Grow, live, thrive. There was a rhythm to it, a song. Everything was singing it, from the tiniest sprout to the tallest pine.
And the flower joined the chorus.
_____________________________
Gerry slid the delicate stem between his toes. The shoot felt cool to his skin, and he sighed happily. With a curl of a toe, he dug a claw into the ground, tearing the stem with a satisfying pop and bruising the leaves underneath his pads. He bent down and pulled the flower from his paw and sniffed.
This was one of those flowers, it turned out, with more color than scent. He pressed the vibrant yellow and orange petals against his nose and inhaled as deeply as he dared, coughing on the pollen and sneezing at the gentle tickling of petal against flesh. He could just barely make out an earthy aroma with a hint of sweetness. He twisted the stem between his thumb and finger, enjoying the sensation as it rolled over his toughened skin. He pricked it with a clawed finger and rubbed some of the sticky fluid on his palm. This had a more definite smell, and not as pleasant.
Ah, how wonderful it was to be out here on a pleasantly cool summer morning! The dew made the rich soil of his favorite resting place more springy, and his paws sank a little more deeply into the ground as he bounced over the field of wildflowers. Specks of blue, purple, and the occasional yellow and red were scattered over the grassy clearing, glinting in the filtered morning sun and filling the air with a subtle yet potent smell of energy and life. The rains had been a blessing.
He stretched, digging his toes as deep into the ground as far they would go, which was quite far compared to the last few dry days, and imagined his claws as a shovel burrowing into the ground. It was quite cool and damp, and gave way to his toes easily. He lifted his arms toward the sun, and arched his back and his tail. The sun inched higher in the sky, suddenly flooding the clearing with light. It shone warm on his fur and he basked in its rays. On a whim, he tore off his shirt and tossed it on the ground beside him, so he could take in more of the lifegiving light.
He stretched again and gave out a muffled, happy groan. This was life. This was living.
It was when Gerry decided it was time to head back home that he discovered problems. His paws wouldn't move. He tried to lift a leg, but it had no interest in leaving its place in the cool ground, which he realized he could not feel quite as well. His paws had grown used to the temperature perhaps. He tried the other one and found the same problem. Very odd. He pulled up hard, and pain ran up his legs.
He snapped his eyes open and gasped.
His paws had sunk in up to his ankles. And they looked discolored near the ground, sort of greenish and tough, resembling his pawpads in texture. It was just a trick of the morning light in the dew. He tried to lift again, softer this time but prolonged, to wedge his feet out from wherever they'd been stuck, but to no avail.
That was when he noticed the green tint was traveling up his legs and flattening out his fur. A cold numbness followed the transition from mottled browns to green, tingling uncomfortably as it passed over his groin and above his waist. The grass around him seemed to whisper in an unintelligible, haunting voice, as if hidden in an echo of the wind rustling through the clearing. The flowers and grasses around him seemed to grow taller at a disorienting rate, first reaching his knees, then his hips and chest. He rubbed his head with a paw.
His paw was also greening. His palm pushed into his fingers and flattened out, taking on the form of a broad leaf. The change spread up his arms, widening them and thinning them out, until he was almost sure he could see the ground through their translucence. The flower he had been holding fell away, as his paws were no longer able to grasp it.
As his chest gave way to the greening effect, his muscles lost their tone, and he felt both stiff and weak, as the coolness from what had been his legs, now a single fused piece, numbed his stomach and heart. It was about this time that he noticed he was no longer breathing. He tried to inhale, but he no longer had the muscle or organs required for it.
And not even half a minute had passed since he first noticed the greening of his legs.
The cold sensation then welled into his head, beginning as a pressure at the back of his neck which forced his gaze skyward. He did not notice as his head mushroomed and exploded with petals, as his eyes had disappeared, and he had no awareness of his scent, as his nose had blended in with the rest. His thoughts slowed, and any concerns faded away into simpler matters, like the warmth of the sun against his leaves, and the coolness of the water at his roots.
The flower enjoyed the sun, and it drank greedily of the light above. It was aware of periodic fluctuations in temperature, whether from clouds or nightfall, and of the pulling of water through its roots. It did not know how much time had passed, whether it had been minutes or hours or even days. "Time" was a concern of higher-order beings that did not know how to exist in the moment. Taking in the sun and the water, and from them bringing forth life, was all that mattered.
But it was sometime during this that the rustling of the wind through the grass, the haunting whisper, took on recognizable form. Grow, said the murmur. Live. Thrive. Grow, live, thrive. There was a rhythm to it, a song. Everything was singing it, from the tiniest sprout to the tallest pine.
And the flower joined the chorus.
Category Story / Transformation
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Male
Size 50 x 50px
Comments