The planting

I had to support his brain as he disembarked, leaving the ship’s queer gravity. He was their monarch, born one in a billion. Emblazoned on the pale pink of his forehead was a galaxy with named suns. I have never become used to his elongated cranium, its soft translucent skin revealing a venous pattern of blue, purple, red. I felt his people’s deference to him, and was honored to have such a place amongst them. As rehearsed, the retinue bore his chair to an area of scorched earth. In vestigial hands, he held a vial. One of our number, using a cylindrical instrument of contained heat, neatly extracted a deep core of earth. Then, the Lord let fall his treasure. With ceremony, the core was replaced and tamped down. An attendant brought an urn of liquid and poured it out upon the site. In my third ear, I hear There will be plenty. And, at the last, You too will be of plenty.

You see, I also carry a seed.

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