This was written with the prompt 'Botanical Gothic' in my 2024 university creative writing class, featuring Johnny, Self and Neighbour. As it was poorly received in crit, so i must state an understanding of the houseowner story is recommended before reading.

> ENTER THE HOUSE

Johnny broke down. He clutched his shirt as he began sputtering and choking on his spit, tears falling to the floor. The room spun around him as Johnny clutched the hammer and nails in his hands. Golden petals were strewn all over the floor, in various stages of decomposition.

“I don’t know what else to say to you” a voice was heard in the distance.

In Johnny’s peripheral vision stood a figure which closely resembled his physique and features albeit drained of all color, its eyes and teeth a bright red. Its silhouette phasing in and out, meshing with the shadows of the monstera plants crammed into the corner.

“You have to continue,” It pressed. “It's not like you want these people to die, right?”

“You’re here to just continuously taunt me,” Johnny spat. “Two children died in their home and this is all you have to say to me?”

The figure stared blankly at him for a few seconds and then gestured at the boards he held in his hands. It turned and began coughing, a vile and hoarse hacking sound. A mixture of black sludge and dead flowers leaked out of its mouth and onto a trail of newspapers. Johnny turned to stare at it. Through tears in his eyes, he could make out what was presumably its blood spilling onto the newspaper’s graphics of what looked like a woman crying in front of her house. The text was indecipherable as he continued to rub his eyes. The room reeked of gasoline and perfume.

“You can either continue to whine about this, or keep building.” It replied. “The most you can do is offer them a place to rest peacefully.

“Build. The. Room.” It continued. “The spirits are not happy with you right now.”

It walked past as Johnny continued to sob into his hands, shoes clicking on the floorboards before stopping abruptly. The room was incomplete, with only two walls being completed, the rest surrounded by an empty void, as if the room were floating in space. It leaned over, changing its stance as to not risk falling off the boards and into the nothingness below.

“Like I instructed,” It sneered, its black claw pointing into the void. “The boards go over the edge of the room here, nail them together, it doesn't matter if it is flimsy. I handle the rest when you’re done with your portion of the work for the night.”

It quickly shifted its stance and sprinted towards Johnny, yanking him by the scruff of his purple coat.

Johnny woke up, it was noon already. By some miracle the weather had cleared up from the night before, the sun peeking through the blinds and stinging his eyes. The monsteras and various house plants' silhouettes were muted against the morning sun. As Johnny stumbled out of his room, the figure peered at him in the mirror near the basement’s entrance, not bothering to turn its head. Its red eyes peered in his direction.

—

Come the spring showers, the land was acclimating back to its lively state after months of dormancy. Dormancy that was so unbearably white and quiet as if all life had seemingly died on the spot. Johnny opened the door to his house, wincing a bit as the spring sunlight hit his eyes.

“It’s been a weird year for plants, hasn’t it, sir?” A voice lit up next to him.

Next to Johnny stood the Neighbour, he never knew his name, but it’s not like he bothered to ask. Two large sunflowers had grown in his front garden, having somehow thrived on top of the suffocated rest of the plant bed. Johnny said nothing, seemingly entranced with the early appearance of the sunflowers and shell shocked by the Neighbour’s presence so early in the morning.

“Typically flowers bloom later into the season,” the Neighbour continued. “I suppose you wouldn’t know since the climate in your hometown is different. Have you ever thought about moving back to your province?”

“I was born in Toronto,” Johnny replied. “I lived in BC for only 3 years before I moved back here- Don’t you have work soon?”

The Neighbour, without saying anything, awkwardly turned around and hastily headed down Johnny’s driveway. He sped off in the direction of the bus to Finch station as Johnny stared at his figure disappearing around the bend of the road. He glanced back at the sunflowers. Beneath them were the seemingly paralyzed stalks, leaves and debris of various other plants. Some crocus, a few bulbs of daffodils and peonies, Johnny presumed. All lay there, soggy and snuffed out from the unforgiving cocoon of winter and persistent frost.

Tears welled up in Johnny’s eyelids.

> EXIT THE HOUSE

The sun dawned upon the land

The neighbourhood,

Johnny lay in a field, within the underbelly of the forest

The forest a few blocks from his house,

Its pathways littered with the stifled growth of plants

Hyacinths, morning glory and dandelions

The forest was completely quiet, minus the sound of wind flowing through the brush, the seeds of dandelions being whisked into the sky,

Tears began streaming down the side of his face, colliding with his hair

Foxgloves, buttercups and trilliums

The tears fell upon the forest floor, quickly consumed by the trilliums which had sprouted prematurely in the grass

In his arms he held a single sunflower which he pressed tightly against his chest

Wear this crown of thorns, reap the consequences, houseowner

You have no choice but to keep living, as the perennials and evergreens

Fall into dormancy with each manic episode as compared to the depths of Ontario’s winters;

Where all comes to a standstill

Sprout again from the depths of the earth and into the sky, as the spores from the mycelium.

Continue forward

Build your own future

Live.