Foxglove

Tim had never killed anyone before. Once, you could have called him a nice kid from a well-to-do family but like everything else in this war, Tim changed dramatically in the last few years. Kill anyone’s younger brother and it tends to change him.

Where once he’d been happy, energetic and outgoing, he became taciturn, withdrawn and angry. When the schools closed and Tim stayed home, alone and stewing in the bedroom he and his brother once shared, it didn’t take long for some serious depression to set in.

His parents barely noticed. What with his dad’s home guard training and his mom’s volunteer work, they were barely home, trusting the digital world to take care of their son and keep him on the straight and narrow. Well, it didn’t and he wasn’t.

You see, the internet’s a great way of getting dopamine, especially when you’re running low IRL. So Tim lay on his bed with his laptop on his chest, streaming thousands of hours of content. At first, he watched funny shit – people falling on their butts and breaking chandeliers with indoor golf swings. But this quickly descended into car crashes and bare-knuckle boxing. Then it was animals fighting to the death and jump-suited beheadings.

And of course, throughout, he was jacking it. 4, 5, 6, sometimes 10 times a day till it hurt. But it was addictive. Scrolling through thousands of thumbnails of sex and violence made Tim forget about the trials and woes of the world and focus exclusively on the next pair of tits or bloody machete.

He became a hollow shell of himself – long greasy hair, deep shadowed eyed. Even his parents noticed something was up and they decided it was probably best to send him away, out of the city like so many other boys and girls to nice safe homes in the country. Some nature would do him good, they thought. It’s not right for a boy to be cooped up all day. So they went online and found him a lesbian couple who lived in a cottage with no Wi-Fi on the edge of a forest.

On the night after Tim's 11th birthday, he found himself standing in a ram-jammed train, crushed in between a whole boatload of kids escaping the city. Tears, snuffles, outright screams filled the carriage and Tim felt like he wanted to die. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone?

But the world doesn't give a shit about your feelings so the train idled not, scooting out of the targeted town under the cover of darkness. Soon there was no light at all – the nationwide blackout was in full effect and there wasn't even a reflection in the windows.

The next couple days were super hectic as the crowd thinned out and kids were picked up in 1s, 2s and 3s. Tim transferred from the train to a bus then a minibus and after 3 days, he was deposited on the side of a single-track road in the middle of nowhere.

The sun beat down. The hedgerows practically vibrated with insects. Bees looped lazily between purple flowers that looked like strange strings of bells. Two trees leaned over a drive. Grass grew up the middle of the track. Where it rounded the corner, Tim saw a collie dog appear, running in the sunshine. Its black and white coat glistened and it moved fluidly as it streaked towards him.

Tim screamed, covered his head and cowered as the dog reached him, covering him instantly in hot panting breath and loads of licks.

Cali! Cali! came the call and the dog was off him, whimpering excitedly. He kept his arms over his head and his eyes tight shut. Someone approached. Shoes scrunched in the gravel. Tim’s heart beat hard.

'You city kids are a bunch of pussies,' said a woman. Tim glanced up. Big blue denim overalls towered up to a huge shock of orange hair like a pumpkin. The grinning face underneath was neither old nor young. The blue eyes twinkled and lots of teeth showed in an effortless smile. Freckles bedecked cheeks, making her look even younger. She helped him up. Her hand was rough and strong and she practically lifted him to his feet then beat the dust off him so hard he thought she was trying to hurt him and he danced away out of reach.

'Fuck off lady' he said, his voice trembling.

Her eyes widened and she burst into genuine laughter.

'Come on up to the house when you're ready, sunshine,' she said. 'Come, Cali.'

And she turned and disappeared again from whence she'd come. It took Tim a good while to chill. But eventually he couldn't ignore the rumbling in his belly anymore and succumbed to the temptation to see what lay around the corner.

A long, low house with wooden rooves and lots of chimneys zigzagged through the trees like a cedar river. Terraced gardens hugged it close with rock gardens and little shrubs and trees in amongst the boulders.

Birds flew out of the forest, alighting on the many feeders dotted about. Sun dazzled on birdbaths and Tim smelled a scent that reminded him of his mom's perfume bottle on the bathroom counter. He felt an irresistible urge to look more closely at some more of those crazy pink and purple flowers growing out of some ferns beside the path.

‘Digitalis purpurea,' came a voice, making him jump. A woman stood from where she'd been kneeling on one of the terraces above the big deck. She wore a big straw hat, loose shirt with rolled-up sleeves and short shorts. Her legs were the colour of maple, thin and wrinkled and Tim felt uncomfortable looking at them. She held a trowel in one hand and wiped her brow with the back of the other.

'Foxgloves,' she said and came over, extracting a thin bronze-coloured hand from the soiled gardening glove. 'You're supposed to put your finger in it and make a wish.'

'I'm not a baby,' said Tim.

The old lady shrugged and took a drag on a cigarette which smelled nothing like Tim’s dad’s and stuck an old, crooked finger into one of the purple bells. She closed her eyes and smiled. Her face reminded Tim of a raisin.

'Poisonous,' she said, opening her eyes. ‘Their toxins affect the heart, how hard and fast it beats. The right dose causes uncoordinated contractions, heart attack, and death.'

'Are you two coming? It’s going cold!' Pumpkin was standing on the deck, holding plates and motioning them to come on while keeping Cali away with her leg.

‘You’re in luck, my friend. Her buffalo cauliflower is unbelievable,' said Raisin. Tim followed. But before he did, he quickly stuck his finger in one of the flowers and said a super quick wish that was dark and depraved and unfortunately came true.

Over the course of the summer, he was exposed to a lifestyle that had largely vanished for his generation. He spent almost all day outdoors, using his body in ways he'd never used it before. He chopped wood. Mowed the lawn and dug drainage ditches. He pruned, trimmed, weed-whacked and chainsawed. He mixed concrete, dismantled a shed and changed the oil in their old Toyota.

They were vegans and he experienced eating vegetables he'd picked with his own hands for the first time. He slept better than ever and was often too tired to jack off. His body and mind cleared up his hair grew thick and glossy. He smiled more and even allowed Pumpkin to cut his hair nice and short.

'That's better, she said, twirling him on a milking stool in the sunshine and snipping at a stray hair.

Every day started and ended with a 5-mile walk with Cali and Raisin. A lot of the time, they walked in silence, just looking around, traipsing through the fields and over the undulating hills which surrounded the little homestead.

Other times, though, she'd tell him crazy fucked-up things in nature. How even the plainest looking hedgerow was in fact a battleground littered with bodies. He loved hearing about ant acid attacks and bumblebees killing hornets by vibrating their bodies. He never asked for a story. That wouldn't be cool. But, every time they left the garden through the back gate, he found he was hoping maybe this time she'd tell one.

One particular night, after they'd got back and Pumpkin served some berry compote with cashew ice cream, they sat by the fire in the den. The women sprawled together on the big couch and Tim and Cali lay on the floor.

The fire crackled. Occasionally one of their bellies rumbled and they laughed contentedly. Tim was falling asleep a little, his head on Cali, dosing while her belly rose and fell. In the kitchen, the kettle was whistling.

It took him a second to register the noise wasn't in his dream. He reluctantly got to his feet. There were three mugs on the kitchen counter. He spooned in big dollops of honey, letting a long trail of honey drizzle into each mug. He poured the boiling water into the teapot and watched the purple leaves darken to black.

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