“I don’t understand,” said Hedge. “You are not here to destroy humanity, but humanity will be destroyed.”
“Every civilization I encounter is either incapable of responding to the impending threat or refuses to admit its faults and amend them. None heed the warning. Not even my own people. They are, in all cases, the purveyors of their own destruction. My influence is painfully negligible.”
“Your people…,” the Plant of Ultimate Knowing echoed.
Mr. Visitor nodded.
“I am the last. For many millennia now.”
“All the stories we tell,” said John, “of so many encounters with Visitors. They are you. Always you. Only you.”
Mr. Visitor nodded.
“Few species survive long enough to reach the point of civilization. Those few are fortunate to exist in a period where the many hazards of the universe do not befall during their development. It truly is a tragedy when a civilization survives so long, escaping so many perils, only to die by its own hand.”
“Then who did you come to warn?” asked Hedge.
“I had meant to warn you that humanity stood upon such a precipice. I have found leaders of worlds have too much invested in their status to change anything. Instead, I sought someone who might value the people itself. Someone who would seek to save them. I am glad to say I was successful in locating such as person, though a bit late. Now my mission becomes asking you to consider the consequences of waking them. Consider waking them places them back upon their precipice.”
Hedge raised a hand and flexed a somewhat flattened thumb, recalling his experiences building the fence.
“I know them well enough to know they can learn from their mistakes.”
Mr. Visitor considered this. He did not seem to understand what this meant, though he did understand that Hedge would not be deterred.
“Very well. I have only one request. That Mr. Hedge join me in my travels.”
Hedge frowned.
“I can’t go.”
“Why not? Your mission is complete. Almost.”
“I think because I am too human,” said Hedge. “As a human I pine for things just beyond reach and cleave to them when they wander near enough.”
“I see,” said Mr. Visitor. “They are very near now.”
Hedge glanced at the coffee machine.
“Very,” he agreed.
“You should stay,” the Plant suggested. “You should join us rather than the other way round. See how this works out. It would do you good to see a success now and again.”
Mr. Visitor hesitated.
“Perhaps,” he said. “But where would I fit into your elaborate design?”
* * *
Considering the sheer volume of details to be reproduced, errors were inevitable. People who were certain they put watches on their right wrist were at a momentary loss until they found them on the left. Leaders of nations felt certain they had been little more than grocery store clerks the day before, while grocery store clerks were possessed by a strong impression that they had ruled nations not long ago. Despite some initial discomfort, these people found their new responsibilities and wristwatch locations more convenient and much to their liking. Former clerks fit snugly in their new positions; former presidents wondered how they had ever been capable of more than bagging groceries. Soon, all of them decided things could not have been any other way, and should those lingering dreams come true everyone would be the worse for it.
For the most part, nothing was changed. Across the world people were waking up, finding themselves right where they remembered, doing the things they knew best. Mail carriers delivering, politicians arguing, athletes competing, mathematicians adding. In a small midwest town a short man in a wrinkled shirt named Scud Peabody was greeted at Milo's Corner Diner with utmost respect, treated to free coffee by patrons who hung anxiously upon his every stammering word, fascinated by his sincerity, his clarity of thought, and a mind which moved with such rapidity that his sputtering mouth simply could not keep up.
Foremost among them was a man named Garry Thorne, who repeated Scud's words to other folk as though it were writ passed down from the burning summit of some holy mountain. It only made sense to be polite to Scud, as he could remember nothing but politeness throughout their relationship, and it filled him with a powerful joy that he wanted to spread everywhere: throughout the diner, throughout the town, to the places across the country where his delivery truck took him, even his own family which he loved and loved him in return. He knew full well, because Scud had said as much, that to love others was to be loved in return, and nothing brought him greater joy.
At the foot of a rosewood bed covered by a flowered comforter inside a two-story farmhouse surrounded by corn and honeybee hives was a wooden chair, and in that chair was a plant alien named Hedge. He watched. Waited. Just as he had before, for twenty years, though this time there would be no instructions. Life was his own and this was how he chose to spend it.
In the bed lay Anna, who had returned to consciousness as had everyone else, but had yet to rise from her slumber.
Her face was soft and round, and Hedge wanted very much to touch it but was afraid doing so would ruin the image, as if it were a reflection in a puddle. Humanity was lovely and serene in those untroubled moments between dreams. Her breath raised and lowered the sheets with a regular pulse and her eyebrows lifted as her mind ran through the labyrinth of interconnected fantasies. Hedge was enthralled by her symmetry, yet the word was too cool and dry. She was beautiful.
In the sill of the broad bedroom window full of light sat a thin weed, somewhat taller than when Hedge first encountered it. Two red leaves grew from the top, and a third hung from the tip of another branch extending from the middle of the stem.
Mr. Visitor sat on the sill beside the Plant, looking up into the sky.
It was possible plants might find them eventually. Maybe the Council would discover they'd been duped, but there was no indication so far. If they did, perhaps by then humanity would be better able to negotiate for themselves. Perhaps plants would be more ready to welcome them.
“What will my name be?” asked Mr. Visitor. “I gather Mr. Visitor was not as subtle as I hoped.”
“Edwin,” said Hedge. “You’re my brother. From New Jersey.”
“Very good,” said the Plant.
"It is entirely possible they could revert to their miserable ways,” said Mr. Visitor. “Perhaps they are innately cruel and barbarous with a few accidental flashes of inspiration and... well... humanity. It's possible we have imperiled the entire universe in the hope that they will come to their senses before it's too late. It's possible that doing as your Council asked was best."
"Maybe,” said the Plant.
"Then what? What if they turn suddenly foul?"
"Then we do it again."
"That's not a solution."
“It isn’t,” the Plant agreed. “It’s an opportunity. They need only take it.”
"Hm. God help them," Mr. Visitor remarked. "If you believe in that metaphysical mumbo jumbo."
Hedge nodded.
"He has."
The Plant sounded amused.
“Yes. I suppose He has, hasn’t He?”
The warm light streaming through the window made Hedge drowsy and he was drifting gradually toward slumber when a twitch beneath the covers brought him swiftly back to alertness.
At last, waking from a long and fitful sleep, Anna opened her bleary eyes, saw Hedge smiling at her and smiled in return. Maybe his skin seemed a bit baggier than she remembered, eyes a bit deeper, back a bit more stooped. Whatever was amiss she still loved him. Hedge could see it in her smile.
"I thought you were going to New Jersey," she said. "To see your brother."
Hedge shrugged, grinned wryly.
"I..." His mind raced with all the things he'd thought to tell her. Everything he realized he should have said before but was, like all people before their flash of clarity, ignorant. "I deci
ded to stay."
She smiled again. Then she took a deep breath through her nose, closed her eyes, hugged the pillow tight, and uttered a single word as she drifted back to sleep.
"Good."
Beside the bed was a bonsai plant. Hedge looked at it and knew it was looking back at him. He sensed a feeling of satisfaction, of realized potential and relaxation after a long long period of tension and expectation, as though whatever it had been watching for had finally come to pass.
About the Author
The author of this story has held several positions in recent years, including Content Writer, Grant Writer, Obituary Clerk, and Staff Writer, and is under the false impression that these experiences have added to his character since they have not contributed much to his finances. He was awarded a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism and a BA in Technical Communication by Bowling Green State University because they are giving and eager to make friends. He has a few scattered publications with The Circle magazine, Wild Violet, Toasted Cheese, and Lovable Losers Literary Revue, and resides in the drab, northeastern region of Ohio because it makes everything else seem fascinating, exotic, and beautiful.
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