n'est pas

Here the beginnings of an idea I had for a short story, maybe around ten excerpts or so (though I doubt I'll make it past two):

Excerpt from the autobiography of Josephine Drake, who does not exist.

April 16, 1987
One tends to remember unfortunate encounters with flora, and remember them either quite well or rather vaguely. Or not at all, depending on the species of plant. Because I was only seven some details are obviously fuzzy. Others are sharp. The sharpest of all being the complete erradication of the last remaining honeysuckle plant of the season by a sugar-mad group of third graders, leaving us with nothing to fulfill our need for trace amounts of sugar in the afternoon.
Blame it on our poor knowledge of botany. Blame it on a suspect batch of stew at lunch. Either way we somehow reached the understanding that not only were azaleas edible, they were at least ten times more delicious than honeysuckle nectar. And they were pink, which didn't hurt considering the large number of second graders known to consume frosting by the tin.
Perhaps if I hadn't been distracted by the sight of a nearby game of red rover slowly turning into a clotheslining deathsport for the weak, it would have been I that consumed enough azaleas to kill a small bear, or perhaps even a larger bear. The larger bear would most likely have to have an azalea allergy in order to die, because larger bears probably eat whole rose bushes without the slightest bit of indigestion. At some point in my life I hope to study bears and perhaps publish a dissertation on the relationship between bears and their digestive systems.
The poor kid who did finish off an undetermined amount of azaleas was later found wandering the halls muttering about how he was trapped in the body of a chicken.
And that chicken was trapped in the body of a famous basketball superstar. A very sick famous basketball superstar. It didn't help that we had yet to learn responsibility, and that resposibility meant dialing poison control and not just a random seven digit number. One isn't just handed responsibility on a platter. One has to earn it, with multiple mortgages and a relatively clean credit record.
I think we all learned an important lesson that day. Start building credit early. Credit card companies don't know you're seven, especially if you tell them you're thirty-four.
No, that was the lesson we learned several months later when I became the first person in our class to charge my Swatch. And my seven other Swatches.

Plantlife can be ruthless. Plants feel no mercy, because they have no feelings due to lack of a central nervous system. Photosynthesis produces oxygen. Not love.
That particular azalea bush was destroyed by the fire, but not before tasting my cold dish of revenge. Which probably tasted a lot like fire.

Second grade was a good year.