The Weed that Was

You started off like a speck. A seed that sat quiet, deep down in the dark where no one could see you, no one could hear you. I never told anyone that you were there, I didn't think it mattered really. You weren't something that I thought of, you weren't something that was in my mind. But you were in my heart for all this time. Each day went on and you didn't bother me; I almost forgot that you're there. You sat still, you sat quiet; out of sight out of mind, as the old saying goes. But like some silent, weird little puppy, you didn't stay that way for long. I watered you each day, poured out my hate on you. My anger and my pain; they all fell like like heavy, acid rain. But you sat there, peaceful and calm, and drank up ever drop. "No one else wants to see my pain, no one else wants to bear that rain," that was what I said whilst I thought of what once was. My night time thoughts and my night time fear brought to life all of what I once had and all of what I lost. The shadow that I once thought was a light fell long over me most nights. It taunted me, tore at me; threatened to make me itself. "I'll never be that way," I cried. "The shadow can't fall again. Not from me, no way." And so the rain came down again, but not on anyone outside. The weed; it drank it all inside. Stomach distends, swells with every drop; but still it thirsts. Insatiable, drinking at every opportunity and never ceasing to thirst. The weed grew. With each poisonous shower it grew another inch, it sent out another root. As time went on I remembered you, I thought of what you once had been. I saw that speck that I once had sown and saw the bloated mass of now. I felt that root that dug so deep; but the weird thing was, it was one I wanted to keep. You still sat silent, but hungrier now. Instead of even potentially considering others, you were the only recipient of the acid. I felt you holding on, for dear life one might think. You knew that this was no way to live, you knew that life could not exist in such decay. You woke me up, and you urged me on; the acid I stored and then venom within was all for one purpose, you knew. The shadow would one day fall again on my past and like some cancer of revenge you held on to that purpose. The weed had a point and the shadow was its foe. But the root that sank within my heart was not as deep as my mind was convinced. But the weed was comfortable sitting in there; he was comforting hiding away, holding my hate for the shadow.
But it couldn't go on, for the pain was too much. I wanted revenge as much as I wanted peace and quiet. The sting, the ache, the burn that I felt; was it worth the wait to eject the weed's load? It was getting too much, far too bloated and vain. It fancied itself as my all new, dead heart. It rotted and stank like no real heal heart should and drained my imagination, causing dreams and fantasies of the revenge I could one day have. But I could stand no more of this vile internal filth. The weed had to go, and it had to go now.
So I cried and I asked what the Gardener would do. What way could I loose myself of this vile and venomous root. And the answer he gave, and quick it came too. "A friend who takes a twig, or even simply a leaf, takes part of its hold and it's venom grows weak."
So I swallowed the gall that the weed sent to silence me, whispering, growling, "You know you need me you fool, you need me for revenge." But I didn't need it for revenge for one, simple reason. Revenge is not sweet. Revenge is not satisfying. Revenge is a bitter and harsh impalement that splinters both it's victim and the one that inflicts it. I did not need revenge. I did not want revenge... not any more. So I opened the pit and I plucked off a leaf, and a friend I loved dearly bore it away from me. And at that moment it shrunk; years of absorbing the acid rain I poured on it were slowly fading, slowly draining away and out of it's vile body. Another friend took from me a twig, another a shoot or a bud and slowly it shrank and it cried for it's loss. With each tiny part that I gave away to another willing, loving friend, the weeds power grew cooler until I saw it for what it was. Deep inside me, it was a weed. Simply and pitifully, a useless little weed. I needed it once, or at least I thought I did. But now all I needed was for it to be gone and away; no more roots, no more shoots, no more thorns and no more acid. With a final deep breath, I bared it all to one who had the strength and the love to bear the rest away. I took the weed and pulled out its roots, ignoring the pain and the loss that was only there to show that I was cleansed. I panted as the weed grew faint, it shrivelled and died in the hands of another. And my heart was free; it was clean once again. I had no wish for the shadow to feel my revenge. I saw the shadow once, you know. I saw it drift past and acknowledge me in my new strength. And it was in that one moment that I saw it for what it was; just a shadow. A shape that passed over the sun.

The weed that once was no longer is. The Gardener's wise words were those that I needed.

***

Okay, so if anyone reads this I feel sorry for you because it is revoltingly long and somewhat dark and most likely rather clunky. But I also thank you. Thank you for spending the time to look at something that to you may just be a weird, little story of a parasite and a host. But this is me, this is personal, this is a part of my past. So thank you, random reader person. I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy life to read this.

Goodnight.