It’s a long and arduous process, to properly sow, grow, and harvest a child. First you have to plant them in some soil—not too deep, you understand, but not too shallow—and wait for them to furiously pop out of the dirt. Then came the fun part where they would grow at a rapid rate, but as it turned out, children had similar properties of vines and given a good support fence, could easily grow up to 15 feet. Of course, when the technique started, there was all sorts of argument and talk of ethics and genetics and dear god what is that thing, but as soon as they realized the children were omnivorous, it was little trouble to quietly disappear any naysayers into the very things they loathed. But of course, who cares about “ethics”? Ethics is for the weak. And so, for the most part unimpeded, the caretakers raised the children, and the children grew and grew, torsos stretching into the sky as they clung to each other for support. The caretakers nervously fed nonbelievers and salad to the children and feared the day the children’s ankles were visible, when they could step up and out of the dirt, when they could run around the farms with earth-shaking steps and the world would never again know peace. However, this day would never come to be, thankfully, because long before that, the children would be harvested. Combines were created, with no attempt at muffling their motors, for the louder they were the more they could cover the childrens’ cries; the caretakers shuddered and hid in the corner of a greenhouse, clinging to each other as if it could erase the images seared into their brain. But alas, the deed has been done, and their minds will forever be scarred with the cries of elongated children.