See that vine crawl toward the darkness?

It’s nyctophilic as a Rave-addled youth.

“Maybe some genes got crossed — roots to leaves?”

Maybe, but how is it alive?

What winds it up enough to chase shadows to boarded mineshafts?

It might love darkness, but it’s not fed by darkness.

Some strange man called it “a canary in our coal mine.”

And that gave me a vague sense of foreboding.