The Hatchling

There is an office with walls so white you would think that it didn't exist as anything else but absence. There are some posters framed on the walls – vintage industrial revolution posters from 1939 as well as newer posters by Allen Hori and Bruce Mau. Two pristine Macs are positioned facing each other. Two designers are working.

The first designer says "That logo is too small."

The other replies, "That's because it's reversed."

"Oh."

They continue working. Mouse clicks were blacklisted when the new Magic Mouse was released by Apple. Now they click in silence, like people wearing socks tapping their feet on a wooden floor.

The walls are white, the posters are white, their screens are white.

Then they both hear something. Something wet and squishy has plopped onto the floor behind them. It sounds like a large, soaked mop. When they turn, they are confronted by a large blob, oozing mud from within itself and swallowing its own fluids. It's brown, and as it moves it leaves a trail.

Leaves begin sprouting. Branches erupt out of it's body, creaking as they twist and elongate. It is as if a tree had just hatched.

"What the?"

Quickly, the designers turn to their computers and begin searching the web. One types in "Brown tree creature" and the other types in "A clump of soil with trees erupting from within."

The google search is hopeless. Bing brings up nothing that pertains to the current situation. They turn around to deal with the monster but it is too late.

For the first time in the history of civilization, a forest wins.