Cultivating Plants

Her reality was crumbling with every step. Life threatened to pour out of the gates. Every fiber of her being fought to keep everything in place.

Aloe stopped moving at some point. She couldn't remember when. The place was an unknown one and held no significance, a random yet beautiful park. Without thinking, she sat down on a bench even if she wasn't tired. She couldn't get tired. The cast iron of the bench protested slightly as she sat down, but fortunately, nothing collapsed.

Unlike her.

The weight was too much. And it kept growing. Never slowing down. Only accelerating.

"You… you are hard to find, do you know that?" Xochipilli said between pants. Aloe didn't answer. "You are donning subterfuge, you don't breathe, you don't emit any vitality…. I was very lucky to even find you."

The young druid sat on the bench as his master continued to keep her silence, his body awkwardly resting on top of that massive cape of his. He laid his back on the bench and tilted his head backward, his head gazing upon the heavens.

"So… are you going to tell me the why?" He added casually yet tiredly.

"I…" The vegetable woman placed her hands on her lap. They trembled. It was an endeavor of mythical capabilities putting thoughts into words. "…Never mind."

"No, no," he straightened his back. "You were doing well there. Try again."

His scarlet eyes looked at her with a youthful and lively glow. They might not have been gemstones, but they still carried significant power behind them.

"Why do you even care?" Aloe asked softly.

"That's not what I was expecting, but I guess it's progress." Xochipilli sighed. A sigh of exhaustion that no human of his age should do. "Aloe, think for once, as it seems you are completely incapable of doing so." The elder druid slowly rotated her head to face them with an irate frown drawn on her visage. She didn't comment on anything, for no words were needed to transmit the message. "You are probably the first person to ask that question. Of course I care. Of course people care. That's how bonds work."

"Bonds? I abandoned you."

"You didn't," he responded as a matter of fact.

"I used you for my personal benefit."

The Tecolatan laughed. "And so did I."

"But you were a child. It is okay for a child to depend on an adult, not the other way around."

"Were, huh?" He smiled.

"That's not the issue at hand."

"Oh, it is for me."

"I rectify, you are a child."

Xochipilli laughed again. "Sure, but this child cares. Because you helped that child Because you are his master. Because you are… his everything."

"That's not a good mentality."

"Nor is whatever you have," he rested his back again on the bench, and now he extended his well-built arms behind it. Such was an uncommon sight, for when you had as much vitality as him, there was no need to build one's body. "Truth be told, I doubt there exists a thing such as 'good mentality', especially so for people as broken as us."

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"It exists," Aloe added softly. She wished it did. Otherwise, she would crumble. Wishful thinking, twisted hope, that was what kept her going.

"So tell me, why did you run away?" The young druid didn't bother looking at her now. Perhaps he knew deep down it wouldn't do anything.

"I cannot bring good to this world, Xochipilli," Mother Nature said as a matter of fact.

"You are stupid," he replied casually.

Instead of a slow turn, Aloe's head snapped to her disciple with the viciousness of an owl, and she exclaimed "Xochipilli!"

"You can't deny it," the Tecolatan shrugged nonchalantly. "You refuse to listen. You run away. You say stupid things… What is that but the actions of a stupid person?"

"They are not stupid things…" she added softly, though she couldn't help feeling stupid as she was being lectured by a child.

"They are. Now, answer my question."

He was so serious, so adamant about it, that she couldn't dismiss it. Xochipilli, her sweet disciple, had never asked for much. And when he did, it was trivial. But now… now he was asking her. Truly asking her. Without any pretense. Not the tantrum of a child, but something else.

"I… Dunes!" She shouted. "It truly is hard putting thoughts into words," then she groaned.

"I can confidently say that people weren't made to fly. But talking? We are djinnishly good at that. Our words can move mountains and raise structures as tall as the heavens. So speak, Aloe," he smiled. "You'll find it easy once you start."

"You are such a charmer," Aloe whispered.

"You used to say that a lot."

"Indeed," she giggled with a warm gaze, though it quickly cooled down. "Xochipilli…" her tone was tired and heavy, "I was not lying when I said that you are too young to understand. I command too much power, a single unconscious action is enough to bring a cataclysm. I have seen it before. I have hurt people before."

Her memories wandered to a certain group of people who wielded lots of power but cared not for the pain they might inflict. In any case, they reveled in it. That wasn't strength, Aloe knew that now. Unrestricted power wasn't strength. Being able to restrict such power was. And she had to be different from those people. Not to avoid being like them, but because she wielded far more power than they ever did. It was out of necessity. Their debauchery was trivial compared to a slip of hers.

"I must account for every movement, action, and gesture, as small as they might be, and I fear – no, I know – that I will slip," she continued with a grim tone. "The moment I slip, I will cause a lot of pain. And I do not want that. I truly do not. I… do not want to hurt anyone anymore. Not again."

Her memories wandered to a time long past. It was always unconscious actions. It was always instincts. It was a lack of drive. It was a lack of control. Even when she hadn't been wielding that much power, there had always been that simmering violence beneath her skin waiting to be released. And it just kept growing.

"Aloe," Xochipilli placed a hand on top of hers, which forced her to look at him. His mane was a long, ebony one fluttering by the wind. His eyes were of bloody, vivacious scarlet, his skin that of cacao. "You hold a mighty load, and to that I must ask… do you need to carry it by your lonesome?"

His sight was so enthralling that she almost forgot all her sins. That 'almost' had been impossibly thin and brittle, but it withstood the test of time. Yet there was another pressure far stronger than that of her mortality. A pressure that threatened to engulf a single being with the unrestricted brutality of life. The sheer idea of Xochipilli being the one to be engulfed by that unshackled wildness was something she couldn't afford to see. Didn't want to see it. But above all else, it was her duty to protect him.

"Yes," Mother Nature answered resolutely and matter-of-factly. A powerful pride pumped through her blood vessels, if blood still went through them. "I know what you are intending, and my answer is no. This is not a burden you cannot carry, Xochipilli."

"But I can!" The boy left his façade of nonchalance and straightened her back again, directly looking at her eyes. "Please, Aloe! Let me do it. Let me share your burden. Let me be like you."

Aloe almost puked upon hearing that last sentence. Few things had hurt her as viscerally as those words had. Be like you. How could she allow that when there was no being in existence as bad as herself?

"You cannot," she stated cuttingly.

"You don't know. If you have succeeded, why can't I?"

"You call this success?" The vegetable woman said dryly as she looked at her body, one no longer made out of flesh. An act of madness. An act of defiance. An act of life. "No, Xochipilli. You must be different. We cannot be alike. I will not allow you to be like me." I will not allow you to suffer like I am, she kept the last part to herself.

The young druid's hand tensed up and his eyes shone in an emotion Aloe had never expected to see from his sweet Xochipilli: disappointment.

Plain and gut-wrenching disappointment.

"I see," he added a moment later, his beautiful eyes losing their luster.

For the first time in ages, a feeling resurfaced in her mind. The feeling that she had failed a hidden test with the worst of grades.