The terrorists gathered in secrecy between an abandoned construction sight and an empty parking lot. Many looked over their shoulders in paranoid suspicion; we had to be alert.
We started with a quick discussion about our one and only goal, to disturb the peace of Stanford Campus by any means necessary, which could only be achieved in one: Seed Bombs. Only after we had covered every inch of earthen campus with the treacherous balls of life would we be satisfied.
Before we began we chanted in unison our motto.
“Sprout where you can and plant what you must. Society will be overgrown!”
And the preparations began. We filled our palms with wads of clay and spread them over our hands, then plunged our filthy fists into the bins dirt and compost, and poured their contents onto the center of our clay plates. With a dash of this seed and a sprinkle of that, the clay was sealed. No longer did we clutch dirt in our hands, no, these were bombs.
The seed bombs began to compile in a mountain in the sun until there were no supplies left. Soon Stanford campus would be under attack. The naïve students, having woken up that day under the impression that they would encounter the same landscaping they normally do, would find chaos broken out upon their sheltered lives. Seed bombs would rain down from the heavens in torrential downpours, and the sound of the cries and screams of students would be only surpassed by that of the cracking clay and laughing cackles of terrorizers themselves.
And the horror, the devastation, the terror that would spread over their faces as they witnessed that the bombs weren’t the attacks alone. No, oh no, there would be more. As time passed they would see, the bombs would grow. Oh how they would grow.
Poor Stanford campus. They never saw us coming.