I have an idea for my dream garden.

First I need a way to plant fingernails into the soil and grow a fingernail tree. Wait, come back! Please hear the rest of this before you reject my loan application!

So once the science of all of this is figured out I’ll have a garden of well-curated fingernail trees to share with the public. I’m hoping they’ll form in the shape of singular, 20+ feet fingernails. Admission will be free and I’ll let anybody have a nibble on ’em. It will be glorious. Not sure what I’ll do in the off-season though. flowpaper_1

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I need to massage something right now.‏

My hands quiver as I feel the need to just rub something gently. I look around the city street I’m on. Not a single person in sight, although massaging random people is just creepy anyway.

The rain falls heavy creating an extremely familiar atmosphere. I’m drenched, the street is drenched, the buildings are drenched but somehow I don’t feel wet at all. I look around. A fire hydrant, various doors without knobs, street lights and stairs. None of these will do any good to me now.

I keep running. I run until I can’t feel feelings, only the pounding of my bare feet against the sidewalk. I see a potted plant. Yes, this will work. I shove my hands into the soil and enjoy the gloopy sensation.

A panda joins me. He gives me a panda suit as a salutation. I change into the suit and we knead the soil together. The sky begins to change color. It becomes various shades of magenta. The flower that was in the pot has shrunk away and has been replaced by a small man.

That man is me.

From the pot I start to sing. I’m now watching myself knead the soil around me from a smaller set of eyes and a new perspective. I sing the song of attrition. At the same time I sing the song of growth from my old perspective to counteract myself.

I grow from the pot as the pot grows with me. I have become much taller than myself and although my feet are in the earth my head is now in the clouds. I frighten off the panda and myself, but it is okay. I have done what I had to do to help me grow.

Reaching down and grabbing handfuls of the planet below me I begin to eat it. I eat and eat until the planet is no more. This takes years. Space is my home now, and the pot is the only thing I know. I believe I have feet but I can’t be sure for I haven’t seen them since I began rubbing the soil.

An asteroid breaks the pot. The soil spills out and to my horror I have become the soil. I have been essentially ripped apart and as my body is spread throughout the universe I black out from the pain.

I wake up in a grassy field. And only the panda suit remains.