Instead of roses

In a very twisted sort of way, it is rather fitting that I’m killing off fictional plants today (I know, I know: I’m hopelessly bad). But it’s an eeeeeevuhl plant, I swear. Look here:

And there, nestling between two withered bushes, they found it: black, with a glistening dark ball [or globe?] at its top, the plant had unfurled thick, meaty leaves with slithered close to the earth. One of them covered the rotting remains of a robin’s wing; the stalk of another had curled around a long-dead mouse [poor mousie]. The stench of death and decay saturated the air.

Eeeeeevuhl, see?

Update, 5:40 p.m.: Thou Shalt Not Kill Plants on Valentine’s Day

The last ten pages I wrote are utter, utter crap. Crap. Now I have to chuck it all out and try to find a different way to kill the “$$%$&!”!&=?$=”( plant. Duh.