This is a story inspired by Friday Fictioneer’s photo prompt of of a glass greenhouse, specifically a palm room, where full-size palm trees grow, under a dome of glass triangles. Thanks for the prompt and for coming by to read!
Wimsley Botanical’s Phillip Osman sped across the blinking city to the Great Glass House, cradling an orchid. A quivering Crimson-Blue.
Each rainforest expedition heightened Phillip’s consternation.
More trees, felled. Specimens, lurking obscurely in nooks and crannies; climbing toward the canopy; ornamenting the surreptitious dimness of cave mouths, of brambly animal paths.
Orchids craved shade. In dappled light, through drenching soaks, their naked fingers clung adroitly and adamantly to the baldest crag or knob.
By contrast, lurid equatorial sunlight spelled death.
Yet, how men loved to pull back the dense green coverlet, and expose what lay beneath. Damn the consequences.