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A woman gives love and life to a special plant

Day 1

Dirt shoved its way into the cracks in her hands, and she watched herself bury the little mound of dirt which supposedly had life. A simple trip to her neighbor’s house and here she was. She didn’t even bother to ask what type of plant it was, whether she needed to water the seedling constantly or not. She did not even know why she had agreed to care for it. Still, as she buried the seedling, packaged with its own soil, she began to feel a type of hope.

Week 1

The seedling had begun to sprout, and as for the watering, it was even. A little one day, a whole bunch another. It could go a long while as if it were pouring every day, and it could go a long while as if it were in a hot desert. She gave it lots of love. There was resentment too.

Week 2

The sprout flourished into sprouts with the beginnings of flowers. She loved her little plant, for it brought her much joy. Now, though, it grew older and ordered more nutrients. It took up the majority of her life, when there were more important things to be done. Still, they lived on.

Month 1

The plant now measured a foot tall, and its greenness was a sure sign of ultimate health. It now took new responsibilities, like spreading out its leaves wide so it could gather much sunlight. Other days it shriveled them up and shielded them away from the sun. Its growth patterns changed every day. Sometimes it leaned on its wooden support beside it, other times it stood straight up tall. It changed every day.

Month 6

The plant was now almost as tall as the woman who planted it. It was starting to spread out the flower petals beautifully, so that it would attract the bees to come deliver and collect pollen. It swelled with life, and so did the woman. She now put her heart and soul into it; it was her priority now. It was as if the plant was embedded in pure life. It grew all across her yard, and when the night came, it would stretch under a wooden canopy so that it did not get wet from the rain, while its roots soaked in the water. And the woman, who remembered the plant from its seedling days, gave it all it ever needed.

Year 1

The plant now stretched over the entire yard. The neighbors were afraid but at the same time amazed. The very same woman who gave the plant’s mother the seeds was surprised to find that it had grown so big. But the plant’s mother loved it no matter what, and therefore it grew and grew. It had big responsibilities now too. Its systems worked together, and slowly its flowers evolved into beautiful fruits: reds, oranges, yellows, and greens. It made each one attractive so that the tiny critters of the yard could eat them and spread the fruit’s seeds around. It was reaching adulthood, but there was a problem: at this point, it could tell that it would be a short time until it stopped living.

Year 2

The once little plant is dead. One day the woman came into the yard to water and found a dried brown stalk on the ground. She cried and flung the stalk out of the yard. As she collapsed in sorrow, fresh life met her skin. The offspring of the plant comforted her, saying she’d get through this. This is the way of nature; her little plant just went off earlier than usual. Together, they promised. They would get through this together.

Year 3

The woman knows the cycle now. The offspring will be finished in the next year and a half. Steadily, at least. A number of the offspring have already died due to shadows, storms, and other things. None of them are quite as extraordinary as the little plant; they don’t grow to a huge size or produce multicolored fruit, but the woman loves them all the same. She wonders how she is still alive after all this time. Then she reminds herself that her end is coming nearer, and like her beloved little plant, she can sense her end is coming soon.


Year 4

The woman is dead. No one takes her house, for the garden is too wild. As for the offspring, they create offspring and die off. The offsprings’ offspring will become older and will eventually die off too, but not without creating their own offspring. They all sense an absence, though, even the oblivious youngsters. Something is off. The woman doesn’t come and swat the bugs off our leaves, they think. “No,” others say, “It isn’t that she is not coming. It is that she cannot come.”

For the Rest of Time

The woman’s spirit floated up and above, through the clouds, up into a golden world above. She has achieved much, and is satisfied. But now she looks around for something. Suddenly he appears. With shaggy brown hair and a happy, glowing face he races toward the woman. The woman shows no surprise to this and races toward the boy in turn. They embrace in the center of the afterlife, having not seen each other in a long time. The little boy is the little plant, except he hasn’t always been one. In fact, he never was a plant; he was always a boy, and that was his story.