Elegy for the Delta
The plant grew overnight. Silas Duran was certain of this. He had gone to sleep in the greenhouse at Duran Plantation with seventeen seedlings, each no taller than his thumb. In the morning, there were hundreds. They were the colour of dried blood. Their leaves were broad and waxy, and when he touched them, they trembled. Not from the wind. The greenhouse was sealed. They trembled because he...
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