Nutrients. Water from the Underground. It sustains the life of many plants, such as trees, flowers, and other botanic Specimens.

A man would hold a flower, and marvel at how beautiful it is. A child would climb a tree, and think how fun it is. A woman would lie on grass, and feel how peaceful it is. None of that’s in this story.
 

Glasgow woke at 5am. Men and women start to get ready for work. So far everything’s normal. 7.30am and most children wake. So far everything’s normal. 10am. People like Jack Harper, the people who sleep in, wake and drag themselves out of bed. So far everything’s normal.

Jack Harper walked across his bombsite of a bedroom, and stared into his mirror. A blue eyed (bloodshot), long brown haired (dishevelled) 15 year-old boy stared back at him. He then waddled over to the window, threw it open, and breathed in fresh Summer air. He looked round his room. It was rectangular in shape, and would have had an oak floor, but it was not visible for the crumpled clothes, empty sweet wrappers and bits of dog’s dirt. (He had never known how that got there, or was it even a dog’s?) The walls were plastered with posters of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Celebrities, and films such as ‘Alien’

Yawning and scratching his back, Jack made his bed, grabbed his clothes and went for a shower. An hour later, Jack was pouring himself some cornflakes in the Kitchen.

‘Morning, Jack!’ his Uncle Geoffrey said cheerfully. ‘Nice of you to join us. When did you get up?’

‘Ten,’ Jack replied. Uncle Geoff raised his white eyebrows.

‘A new record,’ he beamed sarcastically. ‘Yesterday it was five past ten! Well done!’ Jack grinned at his uncle. He had wispy white hair and hazel brown eyes, with a woolly jumper and grey trousers, completely different to Jack’s blue T-shirt and jeans.

Just as he sat down, Jack’s Aunt Lavender walked in.

‘Morning,’ she said briskly. She looked questioningly at Geoff.

‘Ten,’ he said casually.

‘A new record,’ Lavender smiled at Jack. Jack rolled his eyes. Lavender too had hazel brown eyes, thick black hair and wore a white skirt and a blue Cardigan. She sat down beside Geoff. ‘You’ll have to start getting up at 6am after the holidays,’ Lavender pointed out.

‘That’s right,’ Geoff cut in. ‘You’re entering one of the most important years in your education.’

‘I know,’ Jack sighed. ‘Secondary 5.’ He looked up at his only family. ‘And I can’t afford to be late.’

The reason he was living with his relatives was because his Mum and Dad had disappeared completely after he was born. The Police searched and searched, but didn’t even find a body. So, at the age of one, Jack Harper went into the care of his Aunt and Uncle.

Jack spent most of the morning watching TV. Finally just before lunchtime, Aunt Lavender switched it off, kicked him into the hall and stuffed a basket into his hands.

‘What did you do that for?’ he spluttered. ‘I was gonna watch Top Gear!’

But Lavender cut across him. ‘You need fresh air! In that basket you’ll find one salad sandwich, one Organic Orange Juice, one Health bar and a rug. You’re going to go to the park and have a picnic. And don’t even think about chucking it and going to the Game Shop!’

Jack nearly had a seizure. ‘No TV,’ he thought desperately. ‘No TV?’

Fifteen minutes later, a disgruntled Jack was unpacking a dry and healthy lunch onto a tacky rug, in the park - and during Top Gear! He couldn’t help thinking, ‘Has the World gone mad?’ But Hell was yet to break loose.

At the other end of Glasgow, in an Alley, a 21 year-old man called Larry Ferari was injecting himself with heroin. His sweaty blonde hair hung over his face, and the creases on his forehead relaxed. His emerald green eyes stared at the ground. His heavy breathing became slow and steady. After a few minutes he removed the needle slowly from his left arm. then he felt terrible. He fell to the ground, groaning in pain. He closed his eyes. That was fatal for Larry. If the heroin didn’t kill him, something else would. There was a vine growing on the side of one of the buildings at the far end. There were no people or bins. Just Larry and the vine. Slowly and steadily, it slithered off the wall and towards Larry’s twitching form.

Larry heard a rustle and opened his eyes and turned over painfully. He screamed. But the vine had already wrapped itself around him. Blood was squeezed out of his mouth and down his Celtic Football top. His jeans were ripped off him. Larry gasped one last time, and died. The vine engulfed his corpse and there was a huge sucking sound.

Un-coiling itself, the vine released the blood drained body of Larry Ferari. After its feed of blood, it grew several inches longer. Then the Botanic Snake slithered off towards the streets of Glasgow, and more chaos.

Back in the park, Jack was about to bite into his sandwich after several minutes of preparation to do so, (drink at the ready to wash away the taste, then spit the drink onto the grass) when yells pierced the air. Looking up he saw people running across the field toward him. ‘What’s the matter with you people?’ he called exasperatedly. As though in answer to his question, a well-fed vine wrapped itself around one of the tall, distant buildings, and brought it crashing down. ‘Oh…’ Jack said. He stuffed everything back into his basket and joined the running crowd.

They were all about to cross the road, when a lorry came crashing down before them. Whipping around, Jack saw trees uprooting themselves and walking on their roots! Every one of them was swinging cars around in their branches and throwing them at buildings or people.

They all saw the nearest tree fling a Jaguar in their direction. With a yell, Jack threw himself onto the road with his hands over his head. Three others followed suit, but the others were crushed. Jack stared wildly at the blood spattered on the road. He let out a tearful cry, then a yell of disgust, as vines ten feet long slithered greedily at the blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw trees crashing towards his Aunt and Uncle’s house. He stumbled after them.

Turning a corner he ducked and dived to dodge a vine and a flying car. Then after he got up, he had to stop to let a tree’s branch whip past.

He finally reached his street which was unrecognisable, thanks to the crushed houses. He stopped outside what should have been his house. It was now a pile of rubble. He circled desperately on the spot. This has to be the wrong house, he thought. This has to be the wrong house!

He stopped and faced the pile of dirt and bricks. He stared at his picnic rug. He had lost the basket but managed to grab the rug at the last second before it was buried by the rubble of a nearby building.

While he stared at the ruin, he thought of his Uncle Geoffrey and Aunt Lavender. Dead. Wasted like the other poor souls, victim to this Freak Incident. Letting out a wail of anger mixed with devastation, he sank to his knees and buried his face into the Picnic rug, Glasgow City had been taken over by the entire Botanic Population.