Dylan’s Summer Hope
Dylan came from a poor family but his life was rich with love. Every year his mother gave him a sunflower seed and he tore himself away from his day to day activities of colouring books and toy trains to plant himself in the garden and nurture his budding project.
My predecessors had disappointed Dylan. He poured his heart and his soul into looking after the tiny shoots but they never grew to as tall as he hoped. Still, every year he sped out with his trough and watering can to try again.
I’d been in my new home for quite a while now, engaged in the constant struggle to grow. Every day Dylan would come and check on me and leave disappointed. I dreaded hearing the phrase his mother would come out with each time “Don’t worry, we’ll try again next year”.
Dylan refused to yield to his mother’s requests to occupy himself with something else and as I saw him close his eyes with sadness again and again, my willpower grew. I pushed and pushed and eventually my spring green shoots came through the top layer of soil and connected with the sun’s warm beam. I felt layers of fertile soil shift as I anchored my roots.
The next day Dylan came into the garden and I saw his heart leap with excitement. His hard work had paid off and as I grew to unprecedented heights I saw his confidence grow with me. I felt blessed that even though Dylan had a huge range of other things he enjoyed doing, his current play thing was a yellow sunflower.
This short story was inspired by this week’s Sunday Wordle which can be found here.
The Sunday Whirl is a new challenge I am taking part in where every week a poem or short piece of prose is written using as many words from the wordle as possible. Here’s my first attempt.
I’d been waiting all month for this nerve wracking moment and I was running late. The full moon was floating above the forest while I hurried to gather the final ingredients and get back to my work. For some reason I never could get the timing right. I rambled through the bleak wilderness, cutting through some bare trees and tripping as my long skirts got caught on the roots. I pulled loose and felt a rip go all the way up the side of my dress. Nothing was going to stop me this time though and I battled on with my blazing torch. My breath was heavy and becoming opaque as it hit the icy air. I stumbled through the clearing and suddenly saw the slab of concrete I’d been looking for. The cauldron was waiting for me as I dumped my heavy bag on the floor. I crushed the beetles and added them to the waiting liquid that was already warm to the touch even though I hadn’t lit any fire. As the liquid began to boil my vision was blurred from the nebulous smoke as I watched it hover over the cauldron. After the syrupy mixture had cooled I dipped in my glass decanter and filled it to the rim, knowing that in 24 hours my troubles would be over. I would be free.
This is a new challenge that I found on another blog. Friday Fictioneers is where every week Rochelle Wisoff-Fields posts a picture and we try and write a 100 word story about it. Sounds like a brilliant idea! Here’s my contribution for this week:
“Your mother says you’re grounded all month!”
“So unfair. What am I meant to do on Saturdays now?”
I gestured to the bike I’d been working on for months.
“I’m not going near that!”
“There’s always your bedroom to clean…”
He grabbed a spanner.
We spent every Saturday fixing the bike and listening to the radio. One day I went down stairs and Kyle was leaning on the wall.
“You’re not grounded any more. You can go out if you want.”
He shuffled his feet.
“Nah I’m alright”
Smiling, I threw him a spanner.