Sanguinara

This is Orenji's point of view. 

Jage's bedroom is not a safe place—there is no safe place, not in the palaces of kings and presidents, nowhere. But still, when the snow falls so heavily outside and I curl up in his blanket, I feel safe.

His warm breath forms a mist that blurs the windowpane, and his glasses slip sideways on his narrow nose. His lips mumble the plant language we've been learning for the past month with a loudness that makes it sound like a whispered hum.

The language is like the rustle of breath, sometimes long, sometimes short, sometimes sharp, and sometimes soft. I got an F in plant language, so don't expect much from me. But as clueless as I am, I still know he’s mumbling those five words, which in plant language sound like a half-whispered hum.

"Move away from me, Jii..." he said.

I laughed, and slowly his eyes opened. Bright eyes with green irises like spring grass.

"I can't sleep," I whispered. "The trees are noisy outside."

He then turns to face me, propping himself up on his elbow and resting his head on his hand, and then closes his eyes. His ears twitched, listening.

"Are they talking about us?" I asked anxiously. Outside, the giant trees are frozen, hibernating due to the winter. But the wind carries their conversation from afar, from the warm equatorial regions.

When Jage opens his eyes, his expression is troubled. "They're talking about invading here. We need to leave now."

"Why? And where to?" I ask cautiously, as Jage gets up to fold the clean clothes piled on the chair, then grabs the suitcase we left under the bed, slamming it onto the floor between us. "You mean Greenland? The Arctic? Or that artificial island in Antarctica?" i asked.

"That artificial island in Antarctica. You're right," Jage answered. "Winter ends in two weeks, that's what the trees are discussing. The Sanguinara—man-eating plants—have already occupied Texas. It just happened a few minutes ago."

Oh my God! Texas? I have some cousins living in Texas, and now I dread to think of their fate.

I said, "But Jage, Antarctica is so cold. We don’t have to go there. It doesn’t have to be that far. As long as there’s snow, it should be enough, right? If it’s Antarctica, we—I’m not sure if our bodies can handle it."

Jage laughs lightly, as if I’m joking. "Orenji, pack your things," he says, as firmly as a friend who’s only fifteen days older than me can. "And wake up Oliver. Ask him to prepare supplies."

"Do you think we can buy tickets to Santiago, Chile?" I asked again, before heading to my room, and Jage fell silent for a moment.

"We’ll disguise ourselves as mega-tutors," he said.

Mega-tutors? Men and women with superpowers who help anyone who is willing to pay one to two million dollars to get those superpowers? They are humanity's last hope, so whatever they say is treated like a royal decree?

"You’re crazy," I said, astonished.

"So that means you’re friends with a crazy person," he replied.

"No! Seriously! You’ll get caught for impersonating a mega-tutor! Worse, you’ll get all of us caught. The mega-tutors will be furious and ensure we are exiled to the equatorial regions!"

Lately, capital punishment no longer involves electric chairs or professional shooters. Now, people just need to exile us to the equatorial regions to kill us, where there are trees.

He sighed. "Sometimes you confuse me, Jii. When will you realize our situation? The risk of being caught by the police is a hundred times better than being caught directly by those trees, Ji." He then puts a very sharp double-edged sword into its scabbard and into the bag. "Now go pack and wake up Oliver," he said.

"I’m glad to know you don’t want to hear my opinion anymore, Jage," I said, irritated, before leaving and slamming the door behind me.

*****

How can we become like this?

Jage and I used to be close friends. We had the same video game interests, the same YouTubers, and the same comics. Previously, our only difference was that I preferred boxing and he preferred fencing.

But now, since the trees have taken over half the world, capturing and killed our parents and everyone trapped in Seattle, and Jage suddenly gained superpowers, our positions have become unequal.

And I realize it’s not just he who suddenly became a responsible leader with my and Oliver's fate in his hands, but I also became a true follower. Because in matters of life and death, it’s easier to follow orders than to make decisions.

But over time, it’s becoming increasingly difficult. I used to be the president of the boxing club, and Jage was the president of the fencing club. And we were both recognized as good leaders. But there can’t be two leaders on one team. Sooner or later, we will part ways. Either I will leave this small team, or he will leave me.

*****

Anyway, Oliver is Jage's younger brother. He has a face and long brown hair, and he can sleep anywhere like a cat. This morning I found him sleeping curled up on the floor, under a pile of books.

"Oliver," I called him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. But as I stomp closer, a fleeting expression appears on his face as he forces himself to stay still.

I squatted next to him, feeling the coarse dust of the library floor rubbing against my palms and knees, then reached for a book from on top of Oliver.

"'Sanguinara: Human-Eating Monster' written by Rose Clark."

I open the first page of the book and immediately find a terrifying illustration dominated by red ink where a Sanguinara is devouring a muscular adult man.

"This is terrible bedtime reading, Oliver," I mumbled.

He remains silent.

I sigh.

"Stop pretending to sleep. Your sleeping pose is too neat, like a princess. You can’t fool me," I said again. "I was hoping you’d be asleep in the pot, not here," I said. 

He giggles.

"Well, people who are sleeping clearly don’t laugh at jokes," I added. "Are you planning to act faint after being buried under books? If so, this pose is quite good."

I gently poke his cheek with the book, and then his eyelids open, revealing bright green irises like Jage’s.

He laughs, both happy and shy. "It’s cold here, there’s no blanket," he explains. Then, he slowly moves the books off his body.

I grin for a moment, until I remember why I woke him up.

"Get up. You and Jage are going to Antarctica," I mumbled.

"What about you?" he asks. "Aren’t you coming with us?"

And for a moment I remained silent, realizing I'd spoken wrongly.

I forced a wide smile. "Of course I’m coming with you, Oliver," I said sweetly. Sweet and as artificial as the island they’re going to.

Unfortunately, Oliver is not easily deceived.

"Are you two fighting?" he asks with a face full of regret.

And then I realized he must have overheard our conversation; me and Jage. Or at least heard me slam the door.

I covered his face with the book. "Don’t be silly," I said.

He pushes the book away with annoyance and rolls his eyes.

"Okay, maybe not really fighting," he mumbles. "The world is too chaotic, and fighting is the most foolish thing to do, isn’t it?" he asks cynically.

I shrug. Not wanting to engage in his confrontation or discuss my issues with Jage.

"Look, I’m glad you’re coming along," he says cautiously. "It’s comforting to have you here, besides Jage."

And even though my feelings are a mess right now, I can feel the sincerity in his words, stirring guilt in my heart. Oliver is not wrong. Jage is not wrong either. But I have a bad feeling about that place.

I sighed. "Look, if Antarctica turns out not safe—" I was about to say, but... 

"That’s enough! We’re leaving now," Suddenly, we found Jage standing in the doorway, and for a moment, we both turned to look at him in surprise. Jage throws a bag at me, and I catch it immediately. "The trees are talking about invading Minnesota," Jage says again. "By then, we should have left this continent."