Parts 1, 2, 3 & 4 can be found here:
Every morning when Mr Marsden entered the container he had placed in his back yard, he was pleased he had sound proofed it and had air conditioning installed as it was like entering Grand Central Station what with all the noise happening around him.
He had indeed created a monster in the form of so many plants with personalities they didn’t once have or was it that they did have personality and he had activated them?
The singing peonies had learned several new songs and loved to give out a rousing chorus of happy birthday for no other reason than they could. As it was their hip hip hooray seemed to make the sides of the container rattle.
The geraniums were their usual provocative selves forever hopeful you’d accept their invitation for a quickie behind the stag horn. The stag horn, in turn, seemed to blush with embarrassment and settle further against the wall of the container. The stag horn was magnificent in his leafy bloom, and the thought of anything or anyone getting behind it for any purpose just made it all the more anxious. How the geranium would actually manage a quickie was never divulged as Mr Marsden suspected it was all a matter of suggestion never substance. Though that fact never placated the stag horn.
As he wandered the centre aisle of the container, he noticed the plants and how they were changing. His Venus Fly Trap had grown to a point here he had to build a cage around it as it was developing teeth which gave him a nasty bite when he stepped too close one day. To protect himself and the other plants, he at first muzzled the plant before constructing its cage. Now when he walked past there was a real sense of aggression coming from the plant as it would snap at him its mouth and teeth wrapping round the steel bars of its cage and the green saliva it produced giving out an aroma of pure maliciousness.
Alongside the Venus Fly Trap grew a patch of African violets, brilliant in their purple bloom they had developed a springing stem dance and combined with the deepest voices imaginable engaged themselves in a ritual that obvious meant a lot to them. They droned on all day their flowers linking sensuously with one another as they turned and twisted in time to their constant chant.
Mr Marsden had a few English roses also, and he thought they were the haughtiest of all his plants. They tended to have an air of superiority as they stuck their magnificent aromatic blooms into the air ignoring the noise and attention seeking going on around them. If a rose had a chest, Mr Marsden was sure they would have it well and truly stuck out. As it was, they treated him with an air of indifference the new buds turning their attention from him whenever he approached. As it was they resented him clipping off the forming buds with a very decisive “Huh, must you?” audible throughout the container.
Today he going to plant some carrot seed and see what happened when he fertilized the new growth with an enthusiasm potion. He was anticipating something spectacular from the roots rather than the leafy tops. Mr Marsden’s mind did work in strange ways at times.
He carried an empty seed pot into a space between the nosy jonquils and the daffodils who loved to serenade him with a bell sonata at every opportunity.
He dug into the soil and made the small divots needed to plant the seed disturbing a family of curl grubs who had survived in the soil after the previous occupants, a rather nasty fireweed had to be removed because it was literally setting fire to all and any plant it could get at.
Placing the seeds in the soil, he covered them up and knew in a few days the seeds would germinate, and that was when the fun would begin.