Pest Control

By Ethan Le

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In a field dimly lit by floodlights, the community gathered to kill the cane toads, creatures branded invasive, disruptive, corruptive. Traps were set, aerosol sprays hissed, and each strike was celebrated as a victory for “balance,” as though justice itself were being pioneered in the wetlands. Hours into the marsh, the last toad was caught. Its final croak was drowned beneath the roar of applause.

“We finally got it, that pest!” someone shouted. Ivy clapped along.

Ivy remembered being a little girl, tugging at her mother’s sleeve, asking about the origins of her name. Her mother had smiled and said, “Darling, you were named after an English Ivy, the climbing plant. It grows everywhere, no matter where it’s planted.”

“Why?” young Ivy had asked.

Her mother laughed softly. “Because it shares so many of your qualities. Resilience, survival, beauty.”

A few weeks later, the town hall buzzed with immense conversations and chatter, residents and reporters crowding with anticipating questions. At the front of the room, Mayor Richford adjusted his suit. A nearby reporter raised a hand.

“After the successful termination of the once-invasive cane frogs,” she began, flipping through her notes, “what are the new plans for our wetlands? How will the town prevent further ecological disruptions?”

Mayor Richford grinned while shrugging his shoulders, “The wetlands are safe now, thanks to the community’s diligent efforts. But there’s always more work to do. Our priority is clear, expanding the work force, new housing developments and a small commercial district built within the marsh. All designed responsibility, of course, because we care about our community.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Some nodded, impressed. Others frowned and confused, sensing the contradiction. Ivy watched from the back, “Responsible?” she thought. Bulldozers lined up like soldiers. Trees had already fallen. Streams were being rerouted. The wetlands were far from safe.

A hand shot up. “Why did you kill the cane frogs,” someone asked, “if the end goal was to build over the marsh anyway?”

Richford leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who believed himself untouchable. “I’m doing this for the sake of the community. A few weeks ago, we all made the choice to eliminate the cane frogs, a pest spreading disease and fatigue. Some species matter more than others. The rest… we manage as necessary. It’s the natural order. Isn’t that what you all cheered for with the frogs?”

Ivy’s stomach churned. She thought, her pulse quickening. The frogs had been easy to blame, a scapegoat. Humans, on the other hand… humans were the real invasive species, consuming everything in their path and calling it progress. Activists in the crowd erupted in anger, boos and shouts filling the town hall. “This isn’t balance! You’re destroying everything!” one voice yelled. Another added, “We trusted you to protect the wetlands, not pave them over!” Mayor Richford raised his hands, trying to calm the storm.

“Fine,” he said, his voice sharper now, cutting through the din. “I hear your concerns. But I and the council have been working on a solution as a compromise, something that will satisfy both progress and preservation. A way to restore what’s been lost, without sacrificing the town’s growth.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, scanning the restless crowd with a practiced smile. Then he unveiled his plan: a revolutionary fertilizer developed in a lab, enhanced with bamboo genetic coding (and other special ingredients), designed to accelerate fast, immediate plant growth and supposedly restore what had been lost in the wetlands. Ivy clenched her fists at her sides. “They cheered for killing frogs, and now they cheer for speeding up life itself like it’s a toy.” As an ecology major, she knew this was unnatural: the fertilizer saturating the soil, forcing shoots and vines to twist skyward, choking weaker plants, rerouting streams, suffocating the wetlands.

Weeks passed, Ivy protested amongst other activists. She pointed to the marsh, now a tangled, suffocating green, and warned of the unnatural growth. But her words fell on ears that refused to listen. Yet, the wealthy and elites argued the fertilizer was miraculous. The town hailed Richford’s “solution” as genius. He posed for photos and had a full schedule jam-packed with interviews. The wood and farming industry utilizing his new product, tree and food can grow at the fastest rates in human history.

While Richford was busy with the press, Councilwoman Lesly Guzman dressed in an immaculately tailored suit and jeweled accessories leaned forward confidently. She waved away the activists’ concerns with a delicate hand.

“Activists,” Lesly said smoothly, her voice dripping with condescension, “I understand your passionate concerns and admire your ‘work.’ Truly, I do. But you must recognize the brilliance of this development. This fertilizer, it’s revolutionary. Think of the headlines, the prestige it brings to our town, the investment opportunities!”

Ivy screamed, “This isn’t natural! You can’t force life to grow like this! You can’t control nature without consequences, and yet you act like you’re gods!”

The crowd became uneasy. Some council members shifted in their seats. Lesly’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, but she quickly recovered, waving Ivy off. “Darling, your passion is charming, but…”

Before she could continue, a figure stepped forward from the back of the hall. A scientist, one of the few who had dared to question the council’s plan privately, cleared their throat. “Everyone, listen!” Their voices carried over the chatter, urgent and serious. “The fertilizer isn’t just accelerating plant growth. It’s toxic. The plants grown with it emit hazardous levels of CO₂. Any food produced with it contains dangerous compounds. Consuming it, or even being near the plants for prolonged periods, is harmful, potentially lethal.”

“That’s impossible!” Richford argued. “Our lab tests were meticulous! Every ingredient was carefully measured! The algae extract, the bamboo coding, there’s no way it...”

“Did you just say algae extract?” the scientist interrupted, stepping forward, their faces pale with disbelief. “Do you realize what that means?” Richford waved dismissively.

“That’s not true, is it Richford?” Guzman gasped.

“That so-called algae extract is genetically engineered cyanobacteria. It produces cyanotoxins as a byproduct. The plants grown with it emit hazardous levels of CO₂. Any food derived from them is poisonous. You’ve created a biohazard, not a miracle.” The scientist answered.

Richford’s face twisted with panic, then with something darker, desperation and obsession. “No! I can fix this! I will control it!” he shouted, storming toward the massive barrel of fertilizer in the corner of the hall. His hands shook as he gripped it, flinging it open.

“Stop! Richford, don’t!” Ivy screamed, lunging toward him, but he shoved her back with surprising strength. “It’s not worth it, Richford!” Guzman pleaded. Without hesitation, he began pouring the fertilizer all over the vegetation. The vines started shooting uncontrollably, faster than ever, their unnatural growth spiraling into chaos. Richford laughed, a high, manic sound, drenched in fear and arrogance.

Ivy scrambled closer, grabbing his arm. “Richford! You’re making it worse! You don’t understand. This will kill you!” The vines, supercharged by the chemical, slithered and lashed around him, pinning him in place. The vines wrapped Richford’s neck as he gasped, clutching his throat. “I created it… I rule it… why won’t it obey?!”

But it was… too late, his own hubris had consumed him. The wetlands outside had become a monstrous testament to human arrogance, a living monument to greed, obsession, and the false notion of control. The plants betrayed their inventor and strangled him whole, and Ivy realized: humans are the weeds that even nature cannot forgive.

I wander empty rooms, mourning my beloved. I carry a glass mannequin, her fragile limbs trembling in my arms.

I hug her tight, craving warmth, craving presence. I dropped her. I lost her again. Oh, Selene, why? I plead. I do not care.

I grab the shards, hugging them once more. They pierce my chest, embedding in my lungs, slicing through a heart still stubbornly beating.

Blood mixes with sorrow, but I do not let go. I whisper apologies to no one.

The glass weeps silently with me. Outside, the world moves oblivious. It’s not fair; morality is fragility.