Blood Seeds

A quick little 'horror' story, inspired by the graffiti image and monsanto's heinous activities.

The company was out there again, planting. Always planting, the seeds, I saw them, walked up to the back of the truck last night, I was curious, it was a risk, I know but I had to see. I put my hand in the bag, the thick burlap bag that should have been brown, but was black, completely black with the company’s logo in gold emblazoned on the side.

I thought it would be wheat, that is what they should be planting, that is what we plant, what we’ve always planted out here, my father, his father, we grow the bread of the world, right?

The seeds weren’t soft, didn’t give themselves to me, yield to me and tell me yet how they grow, a farmer knows this, can’t talk about it, not but with other farmers, but the seeds talk, if you know how to listen.

The seeds were course, pointed and quiet, ‘we will not tell you our secrets little man,’ I continued, worried for the search lights, but knowing it was too early, even for these machines to start their morning work.

I dug my hand deeper, as if to say, you will yield to me, my father’s hands bled on my harvest field, I know this soil like it knows me, like it buried my forefathers and will yet bury yours. ‘Ah,’ the seed says,’ but will it?’

I was struck, taken aback, I pulled my hand out, taking a few of the seeds yet with me. Looking down I saw that it was wheat, what wheat should look like, I ground it in my hand, rolled it through knowing the kinesthetic response, knowing the texture, the unfolding of the endosperm, of the scutellum, but alas, it keeps it’s shell.  'I will not give into you, I don’t have to…’ But I am ruthless in my investigation, I pull out my knife and cut a seed, ‘you will give to me now…’ and the inside is hollow, completely hollow, ‘no soul’ I said out loud but not sure why my mouth moved those words.

The lights flashed on, they knew I was there, I turned to hear the dogs and feared for my life, my family’s life, the knife falls, cuts my wrist as it descends, the blood falls into the seeds and for a brief moment, the seeds that were bathed in my life force appear to grow larger, as if, no, 'it can’t be.' I shake it off, ‘can’t be…just can’t be,’ I said picking up my knife, dropping the now pregnant seeds to the moist soil.

 

Through the fields, back to my house where my wife lays in our warm bedroom. She rests, quietly asleep, I move silently. I lay down trying to slide into the bed, she shifts, will probably ask where I have been, but I will make up a convincing story and try to fall back asleep, I will try.