ichard arrived home before his wife, as was usual in their daily routine. The crisp smell of clean linen and air freshener tickled his nose. He let the door shut behind him, set his keys down, shrugged off his suit jacket, and meandered over to his favorite armchair. This was his favorite time of the day. After a quiet drive from the office, his home invited him in. Nothing disorganized, no chaos, no yapping from his wife. Just sweet, blissful serenity.

He pulled out his phone, resting it on his portly belly and checked the news. His eyes lazily skimmed various sites, not really absorbing the information. Richard did not truly care for the news. He used it as a method to insert himself in conversations at work or with friends. He liked to appear more knowledgeable and worldly than he actually was. Who ran what country or which nations were attacking each other did not alter his daily life, so why should he care what happened outside his world? But apparently everyone else did, and he didn’t want to appear an ignorant buffoon at work lunches, so he “read,” phone propped on his belly like a sign on a hill.

He heard the side door open, and his eyes froze on the screen. He didn’t want to acknowledge what would come next. He braced himself.

“Richard!”

He heard her screech. Like a bird, he thought to himself. Everyday, like clockwork, she arrived precisely at five-thirty on the dot and hollered his name in the house. He looked up when he heard his name again, harsher after he ignored the initial harkening, and saw Marian peering around the corner at him.

“Have you considered seeing the doctor yet about your hearing?” she asked, her small eyes inspecting him across the room. Richard sighed, feeling as if he were at rehearsal, performing their dialogue over and over.

“Marian, I do not need hearing aids. I just didn’t hear you because I was reading. Maybe you shouldn’t holler at me while I’m busy,” he growled.

Marian glanced down at his phone, then her eyes drifted to his stomach. He grimaced at her smirk. She walked into the room and peered through the blinds to the porch. She was a petite woman. Her bones protruded underneath her business suit, and her nose, slightly hooked, was somewhat too large for her face. When they were younger Richard found her nose elegant, distinguished. As she aged, her face furrowing and scrunching into an eternal scowl, he found her nose to be jagged and sharp like a woodpecker’s beak. Her blonde hair was pulled back, the highlights fading in the sun. She whipped her head around to face him, her icy blue eyes narrowed.

“Why didn’t you bring my package in?” she snapped. 

“What package?” he asked, trying to keep his face neutral. 

“Outside. I’ve been waiting for this package.” She quickly yanked the door open and slipped outside, the warm, humid air snaking in. Richard immediately dreaded the remainder of the evening.

“Why are you always ordering those damn packages?” he grumbled and turned his attention back to his phone, attempting to appear disinterested as she dragged a heavy box inside.

“It’s for a new project I have in mind.” She ripped at the cardboard, her nails peeling the tape.

“A new project? Is this a new hobby? Dammit, Marian, you just started knitting last week!”

“Crocheting, not knitting.” She yanked the box open, the tape emitting a strangled moan as it pulled apart.

Marian always dabbled in hobbies. Ever since she’d declined her promotion years ago, she threw all her energy into some strange and random pastime. Initially, she fancied gardening. She spent hours outside, vainly coaxing vegetables and fruits to grow. Richard was never sure why—it wasn’t like she ate them anyway. When those withered and died, she switched to flowers—daisies or chrysanthemums. Was it chrysanthemums? Or cardamom? Richard always confused the two. When the buds meekly peeked out, Marian decided she wanted to try pottery. Then Italian.

Sometimes her hobbies would last for merely a week, or they would last for several months. Richard normally watched her as she floundered and failed at her newfound passion, her attempts producing mediocre results. He noticed she was not really talented at anything.

Except for painting. Richard was rather impressed by her ability. She hung her art around the house for a while, great splashes of color adorning their beige walls. However, her artwork stirred discomfort in Richard. She mimicked pop-art style, with flashy neon colors, but her images were disturbing and dark—a man losing his head at a guillotine while a woman jeered nearby, a woman clutching at her breasts, blood squirting from her nails.

Richard shook his head. He wasn’t sure why his wife was so miserable.

“What did you order this time?” he asked, as she pulled a bag of pebbles out of the box. And then a bag of something black.

“Just some things for a terrarium.”

“A what?” Richard blubbered. “A terrarium? Marian, I told you—no pets! Especially not reptiles. I’m not having a lizard in here!”

“I am not having animals, Richard. It’s a terrarium for plants. Claire told me about them, and I think it would be a fun experiment. Besides, I have the perfect container for it outside, from when I visited those antique shops last month.”

“Wait, so it’s for plants?” He frowned, perplexed.

Marian stood up, stretching her legs. “Yes, I put the rocks, activated charcoal,”—she pointed at each as she listed them— “soil, and plants in a sealed container. And I let them grow. It’ll be like it’s own little world in there. And if I take care of them well enough,”—her eyes sparkled for a brief moment— “then I could enjoy them for years.”

Richard laughed. “Marian, honey. You can’t grow plants to save your life. They all die, remember?”

Her eyes fell again, a scowl deadening their brief twinkle.

“I don’t kill every plant! I bring them back to life every time!”

“You didn’t bring back the bell peppers. They didn’t even sprout.”

“Well, maybe not those. But it’s not like I’m growing a vegetable garden in here. Just certain plants.”

She carried her new purchases to the porch, her haphazard craft station. Richard staunchly refused to let her perform her tasks in the living room. He needed his own area outside of the bedroom, after all. A few minutes later she muttered something about a nursery and left the house.

He sighed with relief when he heard her drive off. The house was peaceful once again.

ichard wasn’t sure what had happened to their relationship. They were in love at one point, he was certain of it. He remembered the first time they met—he was twenty-two, she was seventeen. He was captain of his university football team. How attractive he was back then, too! Although rather short, he was well built and his face so handsome. Square jaw, ocean-blue eyes, dirty blonde hair meticulously styled. Well aware of his charisma and effect on women, he glided through life. They all flocked to him—his team listened to his tactics, and even his math professor raised his grade so he could pass the semester. Other than sports Richard had rarely put much effort into anything in life. He didn’t have to.

He’d met Marian at a party somewhere on campus, he couldn’t remember exactly where. He and his friends were laughing and drinking with some girls when he saw Marian across the room. Slightly fuller at that age, she was timidly peering around the room. Taking a sip of his beverage, he strutted over to her, whispered in her ear, and she followed him. He knew she would. They always did.

She was the perfect partner for him—young, malleable, beautiful. They married a few years later, moved out of the city to a nice, quiet suburb. She finished her degree and continued to work. Marian was fairly intelligent, and her job adored her, offering her a promising career path, which baffled Richard. He was doing well in his career, so why would she choose to prioritize hers? She kept staying later at work, leaving him in an empty house with an empty fridge. She would be too tired to spend time with him or help him around the house. When they offered her a promotion, he reasoned with her—did she not realize she was choosing a career over a husband? He had spoken kindly to her, of course, fully aware of her volatile state. But she had to see their relationship was failing as a result of her actions.

That’s when things really soured between them. They argued even more, and she spent most of her time busying herself with frivolous hobbies after work. She ate less and less, her body swallowing itself like a sinkhole. He wound up finishing her plates for her, scolding her for “wasting food.” Perhaps he believed that by consuming enough for the both of them, he could prolong her life.

Years passed, and fine lines crept around their faces, sagging their skin like worms in soil. Women no longer stared at him bashfully. Now their eyes drifted over him, not registering his existence. He glanced down at his belly and ran his fingers through his thinning hair. He never thought he would be that man.

arian walked in, balancing tiny plants in her arms. Richard quickly stood and strolled to the kitchen, rubbing his belly as if he were planning to eat at exactly this time, regardless of her presence. Ignoring her, he opened the refrigerator and took out charred leftovers. She had burned their dinner again.

Later in the evening, Richard returned home from the bar. He met friends there for weekly trivia night, and they had a joyful time, although Richard found himself bored midway through.

Inside he found a giant, enclosed jar on the coffee table filled with plants.

“What is this?” he barked.

“Do you like it? It’s my first terrarium,” Marian walked in from the kitchen, staring at it fondly.

“Marian, why can’t we keep this outside? It’s a plant, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s not just a plant—it’s an entire ecosystem in there. We can’t keep it outside—it needs moisture and could potentially get sunburned.”

“A plant, sunburned? Did you hear what you just said?”

“It’s staying inside—it’s decoration!” She bristled and turned away. He sighed and glanced at it again.

He hated to admit it, but it was rather pleasant to look at. The plant leaves tangled into each other in a unique, picturesque pattern. He looked closer and discerned a fern amidst the foreign leaves. There were even pebbles stacked artistically around one another over the soil.

He saw no reason to argue further with her. Let her have her new hobby, he decided. The rest of the night passed in silence.

Next evening Richard was relaxing in his usual, preferred chair after work when Marian barged in, forty minutes later than usual. She was still in her navy blue business suit and, to his surprise, carrying a small container. He eyed it wearily as she placed it on the coffee table.

“You’re late,” he grunted. 

She crouched down and opened her container. “I had to run by the pet store to grab some springtails.” She showed him her container, and he reeled back.

“I don’t want bugs in here! How do you not understand this?”

“They’re not even cultured yet! They eat the white mold. Besides, it’s a closed tank. You won’t even notice they’re there.”

He stood up, angry, and stormed out of the room.  “I miss your knitting!” he bellowed down the hallway.

“Crocheting!” she shrieked back. “Besides, you liked the one from yesterday!”

He eventually slunk back to the living room when the house was quiet again. There was another terrarium perched on the mantle. This one was also in an enclosed container, although smaller and narrower, containing only moss and one boisterous plant, its leaves fawning out like tiny beads. Marian hunched over the glass container, poking at the soil, her fingers like chopsticks.

He watched as she held a red spray bottle over her crafted world, misting the moss and petite leaves. She fluffed the plant tenderly, as if styling a child’s curl. Richard shook his head at her fascination and walked outside to smoke a cigar.

ver the next couple of weeks, Marian’s fixation with the terrariums grew. It became routine to find a new one adorning a windowsill or some random perch in the house. Some were closed, a few open, but each boasted their tiny ecosystem. He recognized basic plants, such as ferns or moss, but there were plenty he’d never seen before. He couldn’t be bothered to listen when Marian began chanting their names.

She’ll forget herself soon enough.

Some plants flaunted leaves gray with blue veins, others had a texture similar to a reptile’s skin. One plant perplexed him: an electric green coursed over its frond like lightning. If he were honest with himself, Richard found some of them beautiful, or at the very least, admirable.

Every evening before bed, Marian floated around the house, cooing and humming over her tiny domains. Her fingers poked around at the soil, her red spray bottle hovering, ready to mist if necessary. After the first week of her new ritual, Richard found himself escaping to bed earlier. Her obsession with the plants irked him. He could barely concentrate on the television with all her singing.

He permitted her growing obsession until one lazy Saturday afternoon she brought home a glass cage, large enough to house a snake. Richard blew up, his beer flying from the can like sparks.

“What is that for, Marian?”

“Richard—” Marian tried to interject, her eyes smoldering with contempt. 

“First plants, now reptile-collecting? I’ve had it with your damn hobbies!” He gripped the arms of his chair, preparing to stand, when Marian angrily set the cage on the ground and folded her arms across her chest.

“Will you calm down? Listen to yourself. I am not breeding reptiles, Richard.” she snapped.

He snorted in response.

“It’s for moss.”

“Moss?” he blinked.

“Yes, moss. I’m growing a moss garden.”

She picked up her new cage and left the room. Richard took a sip of his beer.

The moss garden went into their bedroom to his dismay, partly because the lighting was good, and partly because she was running out of space in the rest of the house. Richard eyed it disapprovingly, thinking it boring compared to her other interior design efforts. He slept facing away from it, preferring to sleep away from the window anyway.

Waking the next morning, he groggily stumbled out of the bedroom. His foot stumbled against something on the floor, a loud “thunk” resonating in the hallway. The pain caused him to cry out.

“What was that? A terrarium?” his wife shrieked shrilly from the kitchen. He glanced down and saw it sprawled across the hall floor, bits of glass twinkling gleefully at him.

“Nope, I just bumped into the corner, that’s all,” he called, willing her to stay away. The last thing he needed was Marian pecking at him for demolishing one of her pets.

Thankfully his response satisfied her curiosity. He crouched down, wincing at the cut on his foot. A tiny piece of glass dangled just below his ankle, and his pudgy fingers fumbled to yank it out. He used his thumb to quell the dribble of blood leaking on the floor. With his free hand he reached into the bedroom and grabbed the trash can by the door. He shoved the soil and plants into it, his cut still throbbing and pulsing. Why she left terrariums outside the bedroom was inscrutable, but he prayed its demise would go unnoticed. Some soil lingered on the hardwood floor and he shoved it under the doorframe, reminding himself to clean it later.

The cut finally stanched, he moseyed into the kitchen, trying to appear nonchalant. Marian was distracted, however, hovering over her terrariums in the kitchen. There were at least five now—some hanging from the chandelier, a few sitting snug on the window frame—their foliage attempting to break free from their containers. Richard would never admit it to his wife, but he was in awe of her green thumb. Despite her previous lackluster garden, these plants flourished. Even the ones she planted only a week previously had sprouted up, eager to flaunt their verdure and beauty.

Richard had never witnessed anything like it in his home. As he sipped his water he stole glances at his wife as she crooned over her plants, humming a muted lullaby, misting her little green children. Never had he seen her put so much nurturing into anything alive.

He watched his wife out of the corner of his eye, occasionally barking at her to trim back the leaves.

“Richard, they are in enclosed containers. Why do I need to trim back anything?” She wouldn’t even look at him during these arguments.

“I can barely sit in this chair, Marian!”

“Maybe that’s your own fault and not my plants.” The misting of the red spray bottle punctuated the silence, as if jeering at him and his tantrums. He stewed in silence and sipped his water glass, his thirst practically unbearable these days. He had no retort for her. The sun filtered in through the curtains, and he closed his eyes when it kissed his face. He closed his eyes momentarily, savoring the warmth. His hand clumsily fluttered down and scratched at his ankle, and a contented grunt escaped him.

he days sweltered, the humidity unbearable, and Richard constantly dabbed sweat from his body. Richard and Marian avoided each other, more than usual. They rarely squabbled, for a change, and the few sentences they exchanged were cordial enough.

Richard opened his eyes and stood up abruptly, his evening reverie shattered. He stalked out of the room, sniffing for a beer. In the kitchen he cracked one open, scowling at the botanical menagerie. An itch tickled his ankle, and he crouched down to swipe at his foot.

There was a green scab underneath his ankle, close to where the glass pricked him a few weeks ago. He frowned and rubbed at the spot, but it remained  etched on his skin.

Odd, he thought. He decided not to worry. After all, his home was unrecognizable at this point, and he’d probably dragged in some grass from the outside. Yes, that must be it.

He sipped his beer and wandered outside, basking in the remaining sunlight, all thoughts shoved aside.

A couple nights later he noticed something truly odd. Brushing his teeth before bed, he felt another tickle on his ankle. He reached down and felt something damp, something soft, something...

He jerked his head down, eyes bulging, and jumped. There was a dark green blob on his ankle—wet, soggy tendrils of what looked like leaves protruding from his skin. Various shades of green snaked beneath his skin, like veins, away from the epicenter, winding up his calf and wrapping around his toes like vines. Tentatively, he reached down and poked the infection, wincing at its tenderness. He realized what it was. Moss.

Sprouting from his skin.

He almost called out for Marian, but he clamped his mouth shut. His hand pawed and scratched at the tiny green fingers. He prayed and pleaded for it to be a figment of his imagination. Perhaps he’d drank too much, perhaps somehow, someway, he’d stepped in moss. How could moss grow on his ankle? Moss loved moisture, as he’d learned from Marian, and it grew outside—but not on humans.

Impossible. You’re delusional.

Shaking, he continued brushing his teeth. He would ignore it. He refused to give Marian the satisfaction of seeing him losing his mind. Yes, he would act as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, as if his skin was still skin and not somehow sprouting vegetation.

Richard poked his head out, swinging around to see if Marian was in the living room. He heard her humming, as she normally did this time of night, performing one last lullaby to her plants. He darted across the hall to the bedroom and slammed the door shut, cursing the startling noise. Crawling into bed, he pulled the covers over his head and somehow managed to slip into a deep sleep. No dreams permeated his subconscious.

Sunlight kissed his face in the morning, gently prodding him awake. It felt so good, nurturing and energizing him. He felt so relaxed, so calm—the best he’d felt in years, if he were honest with himself. He tried to stretch, eyes still shut, but he couldn’t move.

Why couldn’t he move? His eyes flew open.

Richard looked around and saw leaves drooping down, dangling dangerously near his face. Vines zigzagged over his ceiling, snagging the fan, intertwining with one another. He desperately tried to sit up, his head and neck moving, but his body refused to budge.

Moss blanketed his torso, covering him from head to toe. Did he even possess a body anymore?

He let out a horrified yell.

Pebbles dotted where his chest used to be, arranged in an intricate design. Plants dangled from where his arms once were—green leaves electric in the sunlight. The bed frame still existed, boasting the new garden.

“Richard? Is that you?” He heard his wife call from outside the room. The door creaked open, and tiny feet pattered up to the bed. He stared, petrified, as she came into view. She laughed a tinkling laugh, like holiday bells, when she saw his face.

“You’re awake! Good morning, love!” she cooed at him in a honeyed voice, the same voice she used with her plants.

She crouched down and began rearranging the soil where his elbow used to be.

“Marian!” he garbled, his mouth barely moving, covered with tiny leaves. “What? Why—?” Heart pounding, he was desperate to reason with her.

She stopped and peered closely down at him.

“Well, look at that. I guess I didn’t replant that well enough.”

She reached out to his mouth, her dirty hands looming over his face. His eyes popped out and he let out a strangled scream.

“Mar—!” His scream died as she stuffed soil into his mouth and massaged his face. Her fingers were rough and harsh as they worked and altered his cheeks, his forehead, his ears. Her eyes narrowed as she preened and rearranged his features, leaving only his eyes alone. He tried yelling but nothing came. He could only lie there, powerless.

Satisfied, Marian stood up and admired her work.

“There. That’s much better.” She smiled, sweetly, and Richard stared in awe. She looked twenty years younger, healthier and vibrant. Her bones no longer jutted out, no longer exposing themselves to the world. Her face was rounder, softer, plumper. Her blonde hair glowed, competing with the sun, and hung past her shoulders, the ends curling like vines. Even with a smudge of dirt on her nose she radiated beauty.

How had Richard not noticed?

She reached behind her and pulled out her red spray bottle, adjusted the nozzle and looked at him, full lips curled into an impish grin.

She aimed the spray bottle at his face.

“You know, Richard, this is the best I’ve seen you in ages. We’re going to be very happy here.”

Richard tried to scream. The only sound was from the red spray bottle misting his face.