Timosh came out of their tiny, poorly constructed shack, greeting the day with oblivious optimism. The potted plants had been growing tall and strong before they had gone to bed. The fruit had been larger, and had taken a quarter less time to grow. It was time to bring this scientific breakthrough to Qwortar’s attention.
The silence didn’t phase their mind while they were still waking up. The leaky wheelbarrow still hadn't crossed Timosh's mind as a problem, though soon it would be clear it was a problem, a big problem.
Timosh stretched and blinked the last of their dreams of glory fade, impossible dreams as finally they were forced to face the horror of what they had done. Their potted test subjects wilting and rotten. The fruit split open on the ground, the sickly sweet smell attracting insects to their bloated deaths.
Timosh felt the ground sucking at their tentacles as they tried to move closer, to inspect what was supposed to be their greatest achievement, and it was then, the caution of their partner and the higher ups was fully understood.
Between the juices of the fruit leaking into the ground, and worming its way through flies, and of course, the waste product Timosh had stolen, had infected the clearing. Even the mighty tree was showing signs of sickness, the bark having a white mottled appearance and branches starting to droop though the leaves had already fallen off.
As Timosh stood, drinking in the full depth of their actions, the fluid from the mushy rotting grasses began to seep into their body. While the full scope of consequences escaped them, Timosh had a sinking feeling in their already aching stomach, it was too late to stop it.
Word count: 289
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