My Power of the Pen Stories

Week Two Story

PROMPT: Divided. Build a story around this key word.

TITLE: Roots

RANK: 3

WEEK: 2

--

The crisp air slaps me in the face as I march, a gun resting across my chest. Left, right. Left, right. The bright sun peeks out from the horizon curiously, the cotton candy skies nothing more than a faded memory to me. The constant crunching of dew covered grass beneath sturdy boots keeps me alert as I stare straight ahead, swallowing back the tears threatening menacingly to pour from my eyes.

The thousands of soldiers march in unison, stepping into a forest. The dark greens grow brighter by the second as the sun continues to rise. Crickets hum their earthly tune as the world awakens.

"Daddy, look at this!" my son yells from behind a tall oak tree in the woods in our backyard. I glance over and spot the most beautiful wildflower sprouting from the rich soil where he is crouched down. I bend beside him, lifting one of its blue petals up so it hits the light just right. I pull my glasses from my shirt pocket and place them on the bridge of my nose loosely, studying the magnificent growth.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" he murmurs, his wide brown eyes gazing at the flower. I chuckle under my breath at his curiosity, his childish wonder. He has so much to learn, so much yet to see. He wraps his bony fingers around the stem, intentions of ripping the flower from its earthly home swirling through his head. I immediately place my own hand over his.

"No, son," I say, squeezing his hand. He retreats from the plant and stares at me, his head tilted in confusion."This is its home, here in the forest. If you pick it, it will have to fight to survive. It will miss its home, its place in the forest. Slowly, it will die."

I place my hand over a protruding root of the tree behind me. "See? This tree. Its roots are firmly planted here. It was born here and plans to die here."

I can tell my son, my intelligent young son, understands. He steps away from the flower with a smile towards me. "I love you, dad," he says as he wraps his arms around me. I return the loving gesture and we stand like that for a while, just me and him, basking in the slowly setting sun and the flower's beauty. "I love you too," I murmur.

Left, right. Left, right. I bite my chapped bottom lip to hold back the tidal wave of tears. I imagine the face of my crying son after I told him I was going back. Back to fight. His screams and sobs rattle through my head. "Your roots are here dad! Don't let them rip you from your home!"

My knees begin to buckle underneath me as we reach a large clearing. The distant sound of marching feet and crunching grass causes us all to hold our guns before us. I can't help but let out a gasp as the Russian army marches towards us. We are hugely outnumbered.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, the blue hue of a strange plant catches my attention. Tears well up in my eyes as I realize it is the same species as the flower my son found in the forest that day.

I blink the tears away.

My heart pounds in my chest as the army grows closer, closer. I stand straighter, a single thought on my mind.

I was ripped from my home, but that is where my roots remain. I will fight to survive. I have something to fight for.

And as the large, threatening army stops from about a mile away, I look at the flower one last time. My son's flower. I see his face.

I may be gone, but I will never be divided.

"Charge!"

--

There you go. My week two story. The judges didn't seem to like this one very much. I think their main complaint was that it wasn't really connected to the prompt and it wasn't very realistic. I guess they're right, but who knows. I thought it went with the prompt at the time. Still do! Tell me what you think. The question of the post is.. What day is your district competition on? Comment!