#disorientation
Day 25: I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748730/chapters/66404320
Prompt: I Think I’ll Just Collapse Right Here, Thanks; Disorientation, Blurred Vision, Ringing Ears
Fandom/OC: Original Work
TW: swearing, abuse mention, death mention
The amazing Sarracenia minor is my personal favorite species of American pitcher plant. The pitchers are generally under 14″ tall, but what they lack in size, they make up for with expertly designed traps. This species of pitcher plant utilizes translucent-white patches of tissue to create “windows”, which, when combined with the downward pointing lid covering the pitcher mouth, effectively disorientate insects unlucky enough to have entered. This in turn tricks insects into thinking the back of the pitchers are the quickest way to freedom, when in reality, they are only becoming more trapped. Sarracenia minor’s “windows” offer bugs a glimmer of hope, but ultimately guarantee the plant a steady meal!
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The Whumper’s eyes follow the trail of smoke from their campfire as it climbs up towards the sky. The wind has stopped completely, and so it no longer blows the smoke out to the side and into the faces of themselves and the Whumpee, whose wrists are bound as they sit near the warmth of the fire. The Whumper’s chin lifts as they follow the smoke upward, the trail of it leading into the tree line above them, and beyond it into a blanket of stars in the black sky. They stare into space, their neck extended up fully in a rare moment of exposure to the Whumpee. Their vulnerability is on full display - from their skin, to their distracted attention, to the tears that form in their eyes as they start to feel fully and completely lost as they stare into the starry abyss above them both. They’re not sure when it happens, but at some point between looking up at the smoke and getting nudged awake by the Whumpee, they must have passed out. They open their eyes, surprised to find that they were closed, and stare up at the Whumpee who knocks their cheek gently with bound hands. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead,” the Whumpee says urgently. The Whumper sits up, looking at the dirt and pine needles that cling to their coat and shaking the same crap off the back of their hair. “Someone has changed their tune from a few hours ago,” the Whumper says groggily. The Whumpee sits back against the log they’d been on when the Whumper collapsed. “I thought I saw a bear,” they say. The Whumper laughs as they dust themselves off, careful not to set off their mounting nausea from their persisting vertigo as they gently lift themselves onto their own log. “Have I become some kind of a bear to you,” the Whumper muses. “Some kind of bumbling scavenger they can’t stand on its hind feet?” The Whumpee points quietly at the woods nearby. “No, like, a literal bear.”
