Prologue
I was a freak; this much I am sure of.
I was not faithful about the level of accuracy of any knowledge I was taught in school, regardless of how eloquently and assuring the words were spoken. The only fact I could verify from age 5 onwards was just that: I was a freak. And I always have been and always shall be.
An explanation, I feel, is required at this point. My name is Thom. And since I was but an infant, I have had an ability most peculiar: I could control vegetation. Never mind that I have 2 PhDs in Music and 3 in Language: I CAN CONTROL VEGETATION. When I was a schoolboy, a loner proud back then, I had believed that fact alone could give me the isolation I so craved, the joy of being an outcast, no attention shed on you.
But the desired effect was not the chosen effect; Nay, it was the adverse! Within a week I had been lavished with popularity, luxury, and limelight. Oh, how I positively LOATHED being a public spectacle! But it was out of my control. My peers had dubbed my freakish "talent" as "epic, sweet, cool, wicked, awesome, amazing, godlike." No, I am not quoting from a thesaurus. Those miscreants used those words, sometimes all in one or two sentences, to describe this horrendous and repulsive curse.
Now, those descriptions are quite certainly vague, so allow me to enlighten you on what the curse entails:
I can destroy or nourish plants with my mind, telekinetically force growth upon them, control them to aid me or attack those whom I see as hostile, enslave them to cater to my every whim, fancy, or desire; Anything imaginable. Ergo, these plants are like my marionettes: I pull their strings and make them do whatever I see fit.
I do not see any appeal toward that whatsoever, yet those undignified beasts found my misery quite amusing. Must I go on and tell you an unabridged autobiography of sorts?
...Very well then, you scoundrel who has no taste in literature, I shall continue.
