There were weeds in the Garden City, insidious things that lead the Rot straight to the city centre and damn near killed us all. You see, everything here is connected by the deep foundation of intertwined roots. We cut and stitch every plant-like building together to promote coexistence, all for our motto of "Omnis ad unum" that left us all too vulnerable.
We didn't even realise how far spread it was until the houses started to collapse on themselves, spilling thick clouds of flies and hazy grey pollen into the air. It choked us and sent two thirds of the city spiralling into a pit of fungal rot before the first weed was found.
It was embedded in a cracked garden wall near the outskirts of the city, looking harmless but for the trail of smoky grey pollen that spewed out from it at a steady pace. When it came to removing the weed most of the wall came down with it, the same damp, crumbly kind of rot that had been found all over the city but condensed into one small space.
From then on we tried to rebuild the Garden City but nothing would take to the grounds ruined by the Rot. Year after year we toiled trying to get even the smallest building to grow on top of the old as we'd done for hundreds of years, using the older buildings as compost for the roots of the new until now. They hardly grow, coming out as sickly sheds instead of homes and those that properly take are so uninhabitable on the inside that they may as well be used to kill convicts.
We are left with a handful of city that is slowly succumbing to the Rot just like everywhere else has. The air has a sour tang to it, the faint yet sickly scent of pus that comes from whatever animal wretch caught up in the gradually liquidising remains of our homes.
We didn't even realise how far spread it was until the houses started to collapse on themselves, spilling thick clouds of flies and hazy grey pollen into the air. It choked us and sent two thirds of the city spiralling into a pit of fungal rot before the first weed was found.
It was embedded in a cracked garden wall near the outskirts of the city, looking harmless but for the trail of smoky grey pollen that spewed out from it at a steady pace. When it came to removing the weed most of the wall came down with it, the same damp, crumbly kind of rot that had been found all over the city but condensed into one small space.
From then on we tried to rebuild the Garden City but nothing would take to the grounds ruined by the Rot. Year after year we toiled trying to get even the smallest building to grow on top of the old as we'd done for hundreds of years, using the older buildings as compost for the roots of the new until now. They hardly grow, coming out as sickly sheds instead of homes and those that properly take are so uninhabitable on the inside that they may as well be used to kill convicts.
We are left with a handful of city that is slowly succumbing to the Rot just like everywhere else has. The air has a sour tang to it, the faint yet sickly scent of pus that comes from whatever animal wretch caught up in the gradually liquidising remains of our homes.
No comments:
Post a Comment