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Heady Blooms

They had been illegally procured for the party. Alien specimens pulled from a distant soil, ten-foot high with stunning blooms. Cheap, at the cost of two good people. The pollen from their drooping heads made the guests happy, heady, high. It was a nightmare for us, serving that mass of drunks, screaming with laughter in their gilded conservatory. Laughter that didn’t stop, even when they tipped headfirst into the plants’ leafy buckets, and were digested with an acidic hiss. Could we have saved them? Yes. But it seemed simply natural to us. Just as natural as slavery had been to them.



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