She’s rich, grew up knowing that she could do whatever she wants, and still feels as if she’s been hard done by life. Her mother recently passed away after a hasty battle with one of those aggressive types of cancer. There wasn’t enough money or holistic treatments to keep her alive. It all happened so suddenly that it left the young woman with this feeling of existential whiplash. One of the few roots still grounding her was plucked in a matter of months. For the first time in her material life, this young woman had to cling on to something else. The soul had to find refuge in the wind. Old letters, pictures, stories from family members, a VCR tape of a trip to Turks and Caicos. It all felt like gusts of wind that helped cool the soul from the scorching of mortality. This went on for weeks. The young woman fluctuated from feeling at peace and serene to violently turbulent. She would spill her tears over the memory boxes that outlined a life lived. Then, she would go out and party until the night clubs closed at 6am. Finding shelter in the numbness of uppers and downers. Feeling herself go up and down in the arms of men of the night. Coercing the senses into some sort of pharmaceutical nirvana. Body, soul, and mind can only take so much of this until we’re physically drawn to corners and dark spaces. A true static silence that marks the proverbial breaking of the camel's back. The young woman sleeps and dozes off into plum colored oblivion. Today, to her own surprise, she’s woken up and felt she has enough strength to go visit her mothers greenhouse out back. It will be a quick little stroll just to get her legs moving outside of the four corners of her room. The young woman flashes past the petunias and the orchids and the sunflowers. Her mother had once explained to her that as much as she loved the symmetry, color, and enchantment around traditionally beautiful flowers and plants, she preferred the rarer, less appealing subsets of flora. These were found towards the back of the green house. Venus fly traps, stinking corpse lilies, Zulu giants. A baffling mixture of foul smelling and carnivorous verdure spanning 15 square yards of space. That’s where the young woman is heading straight to. Despite the insufferable odor and ghastly structural formations, the young woman takes her time appreciating it all through her mother’s eyes. She contemplates her mothers philosophy around these plants. She comes up with reasons as to why her mother had this close fondness to this type of greenery. Perhaps it was the strangeness of it all or the duality of nature itself. It makes her feel proud to think about her mother as someone who thought about life with this sort of depth. As she’s putting an end to her sojourn in the greenhouse, the young woman spots a plant tucked away in the corner of the greenhouse she has not seen in the past. It has a thick baby blue stem that sweats black droplets, pink petals that look like the skin on a human's hands which hold inside pomegranate-like seeds that smell like fried chicken. The young woman looks around to find some sort of description on the plant and there is nothing to be found. Nothing except the shells of the pomegranate-like seeds in a small mound behind the plant. The young woman ponders for a moment and realizes that maybe her mother was eating these seeds to combat the cancer. It would make sense that she flew in some sort of exotic plant. As stated earlier, all resources were sought after to stop the spread of the disease. The young woman then thinks to herself, “why not pay homage to the resilience and ingenuity of my mother by eating one of these seeds?” It feels right in a way to indulge in this little snack that once held the faint promise of health for her mother. She puts her hand inside the pink flesh petals which slowly close over her hand and draws out one of the wine red seeds. She looked up at the sky, closed her eyes, peeled the layers to uncover the yellow seed, and pops it onto the tip of her tongue…[TO BE CONTINUED].