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Nonhuman Story
The Thoughtful Sidewalk Spurge
Darkness… it seems that must be how it always begins—life, that is. I do not know how I am sure of that, but it feels true. My capsule tightly surrounds and protects me as I hold fast within a blanket of petals. Time passes arbitrarily, my existence is imperceptible to the world around me. The soft petals I am accustomed to eventually turn into crisp flakes, and I begin to feel less secure. Suddenly, my world that was once warm and comfortable turns into an intense pressure, and as it releases, so do I. My capsule snaps away from the only home I have known, and for a second, I am weightless, floating away before clumsily landing on a rough surface. Then, more pressure, and I am kicked aimlessly around by some massive threat before landing safely in between two narrowly spaced concrete walls. Time passes, slowly at first while sediment gradually drowns me. I grow cold, and time seems to speed up then, the days are all the same. The heavy weight of snow forces me deeper between this crack I now call home, and I reminisce over the memory of my warm blanket of petals—now replaced by pillows of dirt and rock. Where I have once known warmth and been surrounded by an abundance of life, I now only know of lonesome concrete walls. Still, the darkness is unchanging as I the succumb to the cold. Time passes all at once.
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Then, suddenly, it is as if I awake from a dream, I feel it. I feel warmth. My shrunken, dry capsule thaws with my surroundings. My home becomes quenched with run off and I soak in as much liquid as I can. I am revived, I gain hope, I need to escape this darkness—I must! My hunger pangs within my capsule, and something else does, too. Time passes, and I slowly begin to crack. I still dream of life and light; I need to move towards the warmth, but I struggle to pull myself up. There is not much nutrition for me between these concrete walls, I must search elsewhere for strength. My instinct tells me to move down, but how can this be? I want to live, I must reach the surface above me. Moving down could waste the only energy I have left while moving me further from my goal. I have never done this before, I have never left my capsule, but I am swollen with an urge to seek outside my bounds, and so I do. Down, I decide, and all I can do is hope my instinct is correct. My root takes a dive as I tap the soil for nutrients. It takes me time, and energy, but my root does not disappoint, and I am brought strength. I grow tired of this capsule that has held me all this time. I leave its comforts by cracking through its shell, and I decide to begin my journey towards the surface. The warmth is calling to me, the darkness seems to be present but not overbearing, I reach forward some more. Water and nutrients feed me; I am surrounded by no one else to share with except for these walls. They imprison me but I push on, somehow knowing they will not confine me forever. The soil obliges to my path, gently moving aside for me, and seeming to encourage me as I grow. The warmth intensifies, darkness begins to fade away even more. My root settles deeply, anchoring me with strength, but I can not imbalance it. I somehow know I am limited on my vertical; however, I have yet to reach the surface Just a little further, I can feel it, and so I push forward—just enough. Then, it happens. I sprout.
The intensity of light deafens the strength of the darkness I am accustomed to. My entire surface area beams with energy as the rays absorb into my small structure, and I plead for more. The air above the surface is cool and crisp, but the breeze is warm. I sense no other life around me; I am still surrounded by these empty walls. I long to reach toward someone, something, anything, just for reassurance that this is not a dream. To know I am not alone would be to know there is a future and an entire world nearby, I just have to find it. Alas, I remain in the dark in some regards, I suppose. Light fades for the first time, and I panic. The sweet triumph of emerging is so quickly taken away like a trick. The breeze turns cold once more, and all I can do is wait for the unknown to become known. Waiting is enough because the light returns to me. I decide not to let it go to waste and I begin emerging leaves. I try growing taller, but my stem is too weak. What I would give to leave this concrete and touch the white puffs above me that lie in the vast blue air! As hard as I try, I can only grow out, I decide this is better than nothing and I begin casting out my thin branches across the concrete. Perhaps if I can suffocate its exterior, I can escape its grip. Light fades and returns, soon the air becomes hot, and I find it easier to grow. I sprawl my arms across the concrete further every day. They reach across the surface so that I can absorb more light. The light feeds me and gives me energy to continue developing. I feel a tickle one day and realize I have grown tiny hairs along my stems. The white puffs often turn gray and thick, usually following with precipitation. My new hairy stems increase my surface area to absorb more droplets. Sometimes the droplets are sharp and heavy as they land on and around me, but the crack in which I reside retains the droplets like my own personal canteen.
All these nutrients and no one to share it with, it is a lonely life to be had, even above the surface. This occupies my conscience nearly all the time until one day I come to a profound realization. I absorb all the water and nutrients I can, and I get to work. Maybe, just maybe, I have been capable of solving my own problem this whole time. I begin putting all my energy into the project, and it is not long before I see results: I have sprouted flowers. The air is even hotter now, and showers are fewer and further between. My flowers succeed in bringing me company, though. Beings that are colored yellow and black hover above my flowers, I welcome them since they are virtually my first guests. I host the gatherings and they repay me with gifts from their travels, to which I contribute to as well. The flowers mature and begin carrying more precious cargo, the true objectives to escape my own loneliness: seeds.
The value within their capsules is immeasurable and must be protected. While I may not understand their full purpose, they bring me hope for some reason, and I know it is important to keep the seeds safe. As much as I desire interactions, I try to stay low and inconspicuous; potential threats could be around at any moment. Since emerging, I have experienced some unpleasant encounters. When the air warmed up, I noticed the taller beings would come by often, though they never stayed. As they travelled past, I would feel the same intense pressure that I had once experienced as a seed. Now, though, I have been able to withstand the pressure and maintain my structural integrity since I have grown out laterally. Other pests, like the brown, furry creatures with fluffy tails, or the colorful, singing creatures that fly, have stopped by periodically to search for sustenance within my territory, but they have yet to succeed. With the seeds growing within my flowers now, I wonder if perhaps this is what they have been searching for. What is valuable to me may be of value to them, too, and yet I cannot defend myself or my own produce; I must simply let events run their course. I may not be lifeless, but I am immobile and unable to prevent attacks. This concerns me, and as I realize what is sure to be inevitable, I allow my hope founded in the seeds to dwindle.
The petals I house become crisp with the cooling air. I sit quietly, watching as the singing creatures peck at what is left of my flowers. While I stay low to the ground, a strong breeze gusts by and rips the last few seeds out of my grip. I struggle to determine if it is hope within me that is fading, or life itself. I miss the warmth, and even light seems to be hiding behind the vast puffs, too. I recoil my lengthy branches; it takes too much energy to sustain them anymore. As I go through the motions of my dwindling days, I ponder the unknown once more. What will the future have in store for my seeds? Is there a future? I cannot measure my success without knowing; I cannot accept my work until I know how it turns out. Unsatisfaction seethes within me. The green in my stems wanes into a depressing brown. I begin to grow stiff, unable to properly feel my senses anymore. Loneliness is what is occupying my weak thoughts when I notice something peculiar further down the wall from me. No, two peculiar things—can it be? Wedged between the cold concrete walls and partially covered in sediment are two small, but visible, seeds, spread out just enough to have their own space. I realize that the true nutrient I could never quite gain enough of was time itself, and I understand why; I exist to create them, so they can have their time. A calm sense of hope and satisfaction are the last feelings I experience before returning to the soil in which I began. And then, darkness.
Nonhuman Story: Work
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