The Fall of Ferris

Once a small farming community on the outskirts of Kalahar, the town of Ferris was no more. Thorny vines had spread like unrelenting tendrils, devastating everything, eviscerating the buildings and land it had appeared in. No one was left but a few souls who had managed to stay safe during this calamity.

In the center of town, now dangling twenty feet above the city, was Harris D’vere, a boy of sixteen. He had found what he believed to be a miracle food. He had been told by the traveler that sold it to him that it would make the ground extremely fertile and increase the towns crop production. When he began presenting it to the denizens of Ferris is when it happened—the seed bore into his hand and grew rapidly. His gurgled screeches and screams would surely remain in the memories of anyone who survived. His body was now entwined with the thorns and vines. His lower jaw was connected to the rest of his head by dark vines that acted as tendons, his tongue lolling out. Beautiful white roses has bloomed where his eyes were. Dried blood streaked his face which was in a permanent state of pain and sorrow and fear. His arms were spread open beside him like wings of a bat. In the palm of his right hand was a red seed. The source of everything that had been wrought onto Ferris. The rest of his body was beneath the vines embrace, slowly being absorbed for nutrients.

Somewhere a door opened slightly. A women, Jane Fideo peered out, pale and afraid. She shook but did not stop looking. She saw the thorns wrapped around everything. She saw people she knew laying in the streets torn to shreds and covered in blood and thorns. Mary Bath from the market. Daniel Hall, the butcher. Kate Veers and her six year old son Carson Veers. Many others. They were all dead.

Jane took another look around. She could see the towns exit, still untouched by the ravenous tendrils. She took deep breaths to calm herself. She was resolved to make a run for it, scared as she was. She stood in the doorway, trying her best to ignore the bodies and the smells and the silence. Then she ran.

She made it three feet.

The building she had come from groaned loudly as one the vines choking it tightened and grew exponentially. It shot out with amazing speed and pierced through her chest. Jane heard the crack of her ribs and felt screams rip at her throat. Soon she was choking on her own blood. The vine continued to grow around her. Her mouth was agape and soft final screams poured over her lips. They were nothing more than whispers. Soon the light would fade from her eyes and she’d remain in this position, a statue of a women reaching for salvation, until rot overtook her.

The town of Ferris was quiet. Small, silent, insignificant. The vines would thrive here.