Story a day: 6.3.16

Playing with a concept.

She knelt on the ground, coaxing the seed to break. She felt the soft, tentative stalk struggle through the dirt, pushing and winding around grains of earth.

The stalk stopped. She looked up. The horizon glowed red as the sun died. The stalk no longer heard her call; it succumbed to the heavy dirt shoving it down. She felt it wither, but could not save it.

The moon woke.

She glared at the Red Moon. Her hands burned, scorching the ground she touched, burning the earth beneath her. Those hands had once created. She flicked her fingers and watched fire spark off the tips. Now, they would destroy.


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