Alone, covered in mud, with no thought but that of existing, the mandrake awakens. At first, she remains still, then slowly starts moving her plump limbs in the damp earth. Eventually, she becomes aware of her existence, realizing that she is alive. But she knows nothing else, for she is a being that has just arrived in this world. She feels content in her ignorance, understanding that this is where she belongs, feeling tranquil and deciding not to worry. And so, amidst the silence, the mandrake sleeps.

In her dreams, she stirs. She sees herself anchored to the ground, on the surface. Surrounded by those to whom her presence is indifferent. She relives those moments when she wasn't alive. And she believes, then, that she never existed. Those who passed by her side didn't notice the space she occupied, and those who did, never held those thoughts for more than two seconds. Even that one! The one who found something in her company to return to, the one for whom she meant something, for whom she existed, one day disappeared. And so, she decides that she must exist, she starts to believe in herself, and embarks on a journey. A seed detaches from the dried fruit of one of the branches, falls to the ground. It is embraced by the warm silence of the depths and solitude. There, at the feet of her former prison, she begins to reflect upon herself. Thus, the mandrake was born.

The mandrake is now a part of her environment. She knows more now. She knows that nobody disturbs her as she is the main figure of her hole; and she doesn't desire companionship, for silence comforts her. She prefers to spend her hours pondering herself, as nobody did before. She takes great pleasure in shaking her fingers in the soil and feeling it between them. She knows when it rains above because the water filters down to her. She knows when the sun shines because she feels the earth heat up. She knows when it's nighttime because everything is cooler then. But the mandrake still hasn't opened her eyes, as she never had them before.

But man did not possess fire, and one day he learned how to produce it. Thus, the mandrake learned to see. Finally, she knew what the world was, but... what misery! She thought that if she had known she could do this before, when she was up there, she could have seen the wonderful world that ignored her. She could have seen the birds singing perched on her branches. That thing that sometimes approached, climbing her trunk, wouldn't be a mystery. She would have seen him and maybe known why he left. Thus, the mandrake feels ridiculous. She opened her eyes only to see a dark hole in the ground. Up above, she could see the rays of the sun, not just feel the earth warming. She could see the moon and the stars, instead of a cold, oppressive darkness enveloped in silence. She could have seen him and known why he abandoned her.

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A new change then takes place within the mandrake. She stirs and writhes in the earth, reaching upwards, toward the unknown. Because although she lived on the surface before, she had no eyes, nor was she alive. It has been a long time, and the mandrake has forgotten.

Oh, how much joy now fills the small body of the mandrake! How happy she is at the idea of seeing the world where she was born! First the fingers, then an arm, then another, now the head; like a newborn baby. Only the mandrake is already capable of advanced thinking and reasoning, or so she believes. She tells herself that her time in solitude has made her wise, that she can face the unknown. The mandrake is wrong. There is much innocence and ignorance behind the thought that exclusion makes us more aware of our surroundings, perhaps quite the opposite. If you are alone, isolated, living in contemplation, how can you even think of comprehending anything, poor mandrake, if before meditating, your eyes were closed to it?

Then the mandrake contemplates what lies ahead. What is it? She observes a majestic tree, once proud, regal; now in a deplorable state of decay. Undoubtedly dead. The mandrake then thinks that if she could be like that, growing grand like a tree, then everyone would take notice of her. She has forgotten everything now. She is captivated by the strange beauty of a hollowed-out trunk. She believes she can achieve a greatness that surpasses that of the withered tree. And so, she decides to embark on her third journey. She anchors herself in the ground, stands still, deeply contemplating what she wants to become. But the mandrake is unable to become a tree, for trees don't think, don't reason, don't see, don't know they're alive. But neither is she human, as she lacks ambition. Although she reasons, she only dreams of becoming something she can't, she has lost the will for everything else, and perhaps, she is ceasing to exist.

What then is the mandrake? She is a small twisted and lifeless lump at the feet of a dry tree she longs for. She has sight, but only sees the tree. She thinks, but only of the tree. She exists for and because of it, to become it. The mandrake has forgotten that the chimera she pursues was herself. But she never deduces this. She is consumed by thinking about how little is left to be grand and majestic. One day, she loses hope, and her cherished thoughts fade away. Unable to think anymore, blind, alone, abandoned even by herself, in one fleeting moment, she tries to remember all that happened, but her mind is blank. And thus, the mandrake dies, never knowing when she was happiest.