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I tried to warn them!


The worst curse of a minister has to be arrogant parishioners. You know the kind - turn up on a Sunday, sleep through the sermon and then ignore you through the week.

I tried to tell them that playing God was a mistake. Splicing genetic material? Why would you do such a thing?

They wouldn't listen - they never did.

I tried to tell them that genetic engineering could only end badly. I warned them - I told them! Don't mess with nature! Self-defending vegetables? Really?

Some of them were opposed to the experiment - mixing piranha DNA with the iceberg lettuces did get her censured, but by then the deed had been done. On the theory of forgiveness being easier to obtain than permission, the mutant crop was already growing, and thriving.

Neighbouring farmers looked with envy on her fat, green... if a little toothy... crop, thriving even beside their own scrawny offerings, still vulnerable to the hungry pests.

They didn't care about the risks.

Even last week, they didn't pay attention to me. Didn't they notice that the local wildlife was diminishing, and the leaves were taking on a slight ruddy tinge?

I spent most of that sermon trying to convince them. I had no chance.

Until they needed something.

Protection.

It was a still, dark night. The village slept. Clouds covered the moon and a soft mist swirled close to the ground.

As one, the crops uprooted themselves and crept through the darkness.

Bloodcurdling screams echoed through the settlement as the vicious vegetation claimed another victim.

Parents snatched their children from their beds and fled from the slithering green mass breaking through the windows. Farmers tried to fight them off with scythes, but there were just too many of them.

Safe... for now... within the thick walls of the church, the remainder of the community are looking to me. It's time for me to address them. I step up to the pulpit and, for once, have their attention as I start to speak.

"Lettuce prey..."

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akcipitrokulo

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