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March 11, 2009

Dave: Quite Contrary

“Gah,” Graham said, covering his face against the stench. “What --?”

“This?” asked Mary. “Oh, this is my garden.”

Around them, tall, thick-based plants wove a crazy-quilt of vines. Fetid white flowers blinked here and there, petals slowly waving in the breezeless chamber. Large pods sat at the base of several of the stems.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Graham said.

“Here’s where I grow my friends,” Mary explained. As she spoke, one of the pods split open. Something man-shaped and slimy slid to the ground, curled up in a fetal position. Its eyes opened, and it began to cry.

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