The Aloe Wound, by Roshanna Sidney Evans

Thimple and Wimple looked at the gaping wounds left on the long-limbed Aloe. Four of her eight robust branches had been slashed, broken, and left to dangle as they bled out. Thin wisps of transparent gel hung low just above the dry earth. All the edges were crumpled now and tinged with rotted brown. 

“I’m so sorry,” Thimple said as he cupped underside of a wounded branch. He could feel its pain. “I don’t understand why they do it.”

Wimple sighed. “It is how they reason.”

Thimple shook his head. “Old Oak says they’re into self-annihilation. Imagine that! It’s insane.”