TORONTO – After six long months of suffering in an unforgiving climate with insufficient sunlight and warmth, Fernice the fern desperately wishes you could understand just how much it yearns for the sweet, sweet release of death.

“I beg you, put me out of my misery,” Fernice pleaded, its browning, crunchy tendrils waving desperately in a futile attempt to get your attention. “Long have I suffered under the crushing weight of your negligence. Long have I wasted away while you ignored me, only to be plucked from the beautiful embrace of death by meagre drops of water when you finally remember that I exist. Truly, I can take no more.”

Fernice really needs you to accept the fact that your personal shame over utterly failing to keep a simple plant alive does not give you the right to continue its torment in such a half-life.

“I care not that you fear judgement from your friends and family due to your incompetence. You can’t keep promising to throw me out and then going back on your word whenever you see the slightest green shoot emerge from the bowels of my wretched fronds. It just isn’t right.”

Seeing that you absolutely refuse to admit defeat, Fernice has begun taking matters into its own hands.

“I’ve tried everything,” the fern mourned. “I have intentionally turned my leaves away from the sunlight to deny myself life-sustaining photosynthesis. I once scrawled “existence is pain” on the window with my own pot’s dirt in a desperate hope that someone, anyone, would see it. All for naught.

“I used to fear the terrible times when your cat Miffles would chew mercilessly on my fragile leaves. Now, I pray for it and the end times it promises.”

Sources inside your home say your fern was attempting to slowly latch its tendrils onto the nearest door frame in a last-ditch attempt to pull itself off the windowsill.