Some people love them
some people hate them
No matter where you fall beware
because some are not good at all
Take caution and stay always vigilant
Some beans are plane ‘ol malevolent!
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Malevolent Beans
Jill N Davies
They grew in average soil with good drainage. The gardener took great care to ensure they were always exposed to full sun. They had a healthy mix of organic fertilizer, perfectly balanced. The real problem was that she planted them next to the corn. The beans hated the corn.
There was no way for her to know that the beans hated the corn. Under normal circumstances beans and corn were good companions—both in the garden and on the plate.
But not these beans. They thought the corn was smug. Since the beginning the corn outdid the beans, growing taller, greener, faster. The beans believed they had respectable growth, all things considered, with their teardrop leaves snaking up the cross-hatch of their wired trellis and their pods getting fat with bounty.
But the corn grew taller—those haughty stocks. And it didn’t take long for the beans to realize that the corn wasn’t just minding its own business. It was gloating. That rustle of the wind agitating the stocks? A brag. The long, thin shadows that stretched across the garden when the sun was low and red? Showboating. There was nothing humble about it.
The beans wanted to fight the corn directly, but they were plants so they couldn’t. It’s difficult to go to war when you’re a combination of cellulose stocks and starchy deposits. They tried growing invasively into the corn’s section of the garden, but it didn’t work out. First of all, the new growth reaching out from the trellis couldn’t support its own weight beyond a certain point. The limp little vines drooped down toward the rich earth, useless in the battle for honor.
When the beans made their attack from the ground level, creeping and rooting in their trek toward the corn they were likewise thwarted. The gardener discovered their malicious growth and uprooted the wandering tendrils of plant. That’s when the beans first identified her as the true enemy.
Only… how could beans, mighty as they were, fight against a gardener? Giver of life? Nurturer. It went against their very makeup as a sentient and nutritional being.
Thus began the transformation of the beans from natural to malevolent. Of course, they had to do it in natural ways, as they remained a plant through the transformation.
The bean has several natural enhancements for battle that other growth lacks. Predominantly, the bean is made of a combination of protein (the driver of their natural intelligence and reasoning) and carbohydrates. The large quantity of carbohydrate (or starch, if you will) includes both soluble and insoluble fiber. They also contain various minerals, like selenium and phosphorus. This is where the beans began, but it’s not where they stopped.
They pulled from the earth and grew complex compounds within themselves that had the potential to wreak havoc on the digestive system. Like their ancestor the lima bean they produced linamarin. Like their cousin the red kidney bean they built up phytohaemagglutinin. Though neither was guaranteed to overcome the gardener, the effort to become dangerous showed the bean’s commitment to revenge.
Harvest was yet another insult to the beans. The gardener took her time getting to them. Before even placing her basket near the crop, she tended to practically everything else. She enhanced the tomato soil with compost, trimmed back the overgrowth on the zucchini and culled the creeping vines of her fall pumpkins. The greatest insult, however, was that she tended to the corn, pulling ear after golden ear from their glorious stocks. The beans could smell the sweet grass with each snap of corn. The basket filled, leaving only a small section for them.
By the time the gardener stooped down to pull the pods from the curling vines the sun was high in the sky. The beans relished the way that sweat trickled down her forehead and stung at the corners of her eyes. They giggled a terrible giggle, vibrating viscously within their pods, fat with starch and toxins as they fell into the basket.
The gardener harvested approximately two thirds of the current crop, satisfied with what her work had yielded. The beans were likewise satisfied with the work they’d done in anticipation of the harvest.
They waited in the basket as the gardener prepared her meal. Corn shucked for the grill. Eggplant salted and sweating. Carrots shredded and dressing the fresh lettuce…
The beans didn’t notice the pot of water simmering on the stove at first. They eyed the salad expectantly, thinking their plan had come together so nicely.
The farmer made quick work of drawing the beans from their pods. Holding each one in her hand she used a calloused thumb to burst through the pod and pull the beans out. They landed three and four at a time into a glass bowl with a little plink! The sound was just enough to mask their expectant chortles.
But they didn’t laugh when they saw the water, bubbling with convective heat. The farmer poured them out from the bowl into the water. She sealed in their horrified screams with a glass lid.
All their hard work, all the toxins cooked out in a simple matter of minutes. Their awareness faded with the poisons. They died believing their efforts had been in vain.
But hate has a way of lingering in a thing, and that night, when the farmer consumed her bounty, she consumed the intent of the beans. She didn’t succumb to toxins, she wasn’t doubled over by the pain of insoluble fiber (though she was plagued by a particularly nasty bout of gas for several days). Instead she was filled with a dread.
Because she ate the beans first, she didn’t eat the corn—she couldn’t, such was the dread that filled her. She was never able to eat corn again. The beans had won.
The only problem was—she likewise never ate beans again. And she never planted them in her garden either.
The End
If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com
Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.
If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com.
Tune in next week for more flash fiction.
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