The Cabbage Men
By Lavie Tidhar
They look just like you or me, and their skins are white or brown or black just like everyone else, but inside… inside they’re green. They are the cabbage men, and their thoughts are cabbage thoughts, and their days are cabbage days.
The cabbage men meet in empty fields under half-moons and they whisper to each other in the voices of boiled leaves, and they make their plans.
They stand in rows and rows, equally spaced, and when they move they move slowly, and when the moonlight touches their skin it turns green, the way fake gold does. No one knows what they are plotting, and whether there is any room in their plans for you or me. When you walk down the street you won’t recognise them. They might be the old woman staring out of her flower-curtained window, or the postman shuffling from house to house, who the dogs don’t bark at, or the slow-moving children who stare intently into space as you pass.
One day you will wake up and the sun will be green and the time will boil slowly away and all the days will be cabbage days, forever.
THE END.
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