Long ago, a secret had been buried into the forest floor. Long before man walked these shores. Long before man could walk.
It remained buried when the old trees and all their children were hacked away and burned. Their bodies split and sent over the ocean.
When they planted the fruit trees, the secret felt their roots pawing at it. So it awoke for the first time in a millennia and looked to the surface.
Plantains have become something of a staple. Caramelised in a pan, they serve as a simple but tasty meal. When the nightmares began, the plantains were the last to be blamed. We had eaten them for generations, why would they turn against us now?
But we started to notice their strange discolourations. The odd, crystal ooze that would weep from their stems.
The dreams showed us the impossible. Vast worlds beyond the veil of our own. And horrible, formless entities that lurked in those dark, vibrant spaces.
We found that, disgusted though we were, we could not stop eating the plantains. For they showed us awful truths that were as burning as they were addictive; We are not the original inhabitants of this world. Our origins lie in the stars, not the dirt. This world is a living thing, in the most direct sense of the word.
And it is angry.
Paddy Dobson
25th October 2020