POST NUMBER: EIGHT
A beam of sweet light shined through the windows caressing twelve pouches that were sporadically hung with tape. These pouches, that were nothing more than pinch-zipper greenhouses, acted as a cradle to the botanical life that grew inside. At the top of the window were pouches labeled: Steve, Mark, and Nick. They were the strongest of the bunch because the sun was most prominent here. It was the kindest to the seeds that grew here too, because these seeds were no longer a pit in soil, but a lively plant that stood stoically in place with luminescent leaves of green. These plants were grounded firmly and stood erect. They had a myriad of roots that grew rampantly throughout, entangling each other in a mass of interlocking vines. Confined to a such a small cradle, these roots had nowhere else to grow but outward; they were strong and poked through the cradle to which it was bound and hung loosely below.
As pouches trickled down towards the middle of the window in a sway-like pattern, the greatness and size of the plants dwindled. The intensity of the sunlight was still strong enough to give nourishment to the plants that grew here, which were also strong, but didn’t stand as stoically or as erect as the plants at the top. The leaves here were vibrant, but drooped slightly. The roots grew tenaciously and with a little more time, these plants would be just as luminescent, just as strong, and would have all the potential to be as great in size as the pouches above them.
At the bottom of the window were pouches labled: Spencer, Sam, and Taylor. These pouches grew sprouts of herbs, but the size of them couldn’t compare to the mass of the ones at the top. The sun just barely reached the bottom of the window, but its warmth was just enough to feed and give life to the lttle seedlings who were determined to be the greatest and strongest plants to exist, but were incapable of ever becoming anything bigger that what they were: puny, fragile, and weak.
Lonely in a corner behind a curtain was the pouch labled: “M”. The seed hadn’t yet sprouted a plant; it was depressed from any sunlight at all. There was nothing in this pouch to the visible eye but a handful of soil that entrenched the seedling as it thirsted for sunlight but could not get any because the curtain covered the pouch. This didn’t mean though, that this mere speckle of a seedling was completely helpless. Buried deep in this pouch the seed glowed a strange neon blue that pulsated each alternating second of the day. And with each pulse, a root, whose thread grew no coarser than a spider’s silk, grew by the millimeter.
TO BE CONTINUED…
END: PART 1