I’ll Be Gentle This Time

By AJ Joseph

Helena crouched by the patch, whispering apologies to the cabbages she’d devoured in the night. It wasn’t hunger; it was obsession. The crunch haunted her dreams, a crisp hymn she couldn’t resist. Botanists classified her as a Verdivore, a rare cryptid whose cravings spike with chlorophyll bloom. She’d tried restraint: counting leaves, chewing slowly, praying to the compost gods. But each bite only deepened the ache. By dawn, she was crawling deeper into the garden, eyes wild, fingers stained green. Nothing leafy survived. When they found her, she was weeping to a sprouting stalk: I’ll be gentle this time. I swear.