Flourish

Words by Quitolis

It began as a seed.

As soon as wisps of moisture awakened it, it stretched downwards to take a place of its own. Half-knowing, half-learning from the others around it, it dug its roots into the soil it was buried in. Deeper into the ground, threading and branching out, forming a maze of territory.

As soon as it knew that its roots had dug deep enough, the once comfortable darkness that blanketed it became a hindrance. It was cold, too, so it pushed upwards, impelled as it was to chase the faint warmth that remained steady above it. Pressing upwards, forcing dirt to give way, a final thrust yielded itself to the light. The heat thawed the cold. Unfurling a pair of limbs, it attempted to gather more.

As soon as it had gathered strength to support itself, it keenly rose further skywards to the light that beguiled it. Towering plants blocked most of the light, but more than the aggravation of having less was the burning need for more. Sometimes the light disappeared as horizons darkened, and even then, it yearned for the light to awash its form again. Time passed unvaryingly, the light coming and going in its unchanging pace, pleasing it in the first whisper of reappearance.

As soon as fingers could grasp, it held eagerly. Its roots burrowed deeper into the dirt to quench its thirst, and its sprouted leaves satisfied its hunger. Fingers lengthened into vines that looped delicately around the plants around it, the stems, the leaves, and the dead wood that led to where it wanted to go: upwards towards the skies. Thus, it eclipsed the timid and the spineless.

As soon as vigor had been established, it thrived. Swift did roots turn covetous of the water that lingered in the soil. Swift did leaves broaden and extend from its reach to reap more of what it could. Swift did delicately twined vines harden to seize and strangle, to clench more tightly. It pushed and pulled, bound to the earth and reaching heavenward, until it was at the top of the world standing tall over the underbrush.

As soon as it glimpsed the horizons beyond it, it saw sights left unappropriated. It saw holdings from which it could have more. But the patch of earth was too far from its grasp and reach; so it waited, and its desire grew more concentrated.

As soon as it matured, it bore blood-red blooms to adorn itself. The flowers emblazoned its vitality to the others who struggled beneath it. It remained certain that the sight of resplendence would give them comfort. With their life source, it nourished the flowers until they reached the pinnacle of their existence and withered away.

As soon as it perceived this, anticipation grew, for pods carrying its essence shall henceforth emerge. Pods then took precedence, and parts of itself that take more than they should are ruthlessly cut away to become humus. Suns and moons pass, and soon, dehiscing pods and scattering seeds carried off its yearnings.

Throughout it all, it lilted out the serenade that resonated in the depths of its being — and the cadence growing ever more captivating, it eagerly intoned for more.