When the grass was gone, we wept. All
vegetation just shrivelled and shrank back into the earth and we spent days
trying to salvage the seeds. While the botanists and scientists mulled over the
logic and new rules, the rest of us eventually buckled under our insecurities
and prepared ourselves for a world without green.
Of
course it was hasty. We're irrational creatures, don't you know. The botanists
and scientists, having established how the process worked and figuring out the
right phenomena that they needed to reverse, set about work quickly and
cultivated a new portion of land that we now call the Grove. This took years
but we all jumped back onto our feet and became invested again.
In
the meantime we created our own field up in the night sky. Rather than relying
on gravity and water and time, we shot our seeds up into the air and watched
them blossom into massive fire flowers that lived from bloom to wilt in a
bright white instant. The Scarlet String Petal stretched out first and usually
the farthest. The Bleeding Sun shot streams of fading violet from its side. The
Welder's Blossom flashed and cast itself to the wind.
And
the grass, the Golden Grass jutted out from underneath it all and lasted till
the glorious fade out. Everybody else called it the Wheat Field but I preferred
the Golden Grass. To my eye, they resembled blades more than stems.
Though
our field was dead by the dawn, we never worried. Our future was in the works
right behind us, underneath the reinforced glass dome where we could perceive
it but never truly understand it. In the meantime we had so many seeds and a
blackened but bountiful bed in which to plant them. We're irrational creatures
but we understand light when we see it.
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