Paraquat

snapper breed change

He had made a mistake. It was a simple mistake, it should have been nothing really. It really should have been nothing really. But it wasn't. He knew that this would be the last day of his life. He knew that there was nothing that could save him now. He said he was sorry, to his Goddess, that he would poison her beautiful flowers. He hoped there could be something done.
The empty bottle of pesticides fell limp from his hand. It was a glass bottle. One for water. A mistake.
He prayed again, asking the Keeper Of Glades to save his body. He said that he would do anything, care for all the weeds he killed. He knew this wouldn't do anything, right? But it was all he had. He was all alone.

But something answered, but it was not his God. His blood subducted out from his body, veins filling with the same noxious fluid that killed him just moments ago. The Great Bringer of Plagues was kind enough to let him still feel the pain, the pain of all his organs failing, without the worthless release of death at the end.

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