Post by hellomeow on May 31, 2008 2:44:52 GMT -5
A friend of mine wanted me to write creatively, I was given the description of something within 200-500 words pertaining to fruits as sex, and told to write it one hour. This is what I wrote:
Rising from the ground as a pillar of perseverance and strength, the leaves blew gently in the smooth spring breeze, morning dew dripping gently from the edges of its stems. The blossoming flowers of pink and green in the sunlight cast shadows upon the moist grass, the soil fertile and nutrient; between the small fragile roots comprising the undergrowth of the grass swaying in predictable and progressively slower repetition lies the vast array of microbes festering through the ground. Feeding on every small spurt of waste produced by the grass, living off of the sunlight vicariously and second-handedly through the miracle of photo-synthesis, are the henchmen amongst which the partnership of soil and tree may perform its work. With each passing day, the soil grew richer and thicker, moister and more invigorated as the tree fed off of it, only performing the duty it was born to perform. Unaware of the soft peaches hanging loosely from the flowers, and the animals that they would feed day by day who would live off them thanklessly, only with their own wastes and biological matter left as a payment; even in the realm of nature nothing is granted freely, all things must be provided for.
Desolate save for the quiet chirping of birds in the distance, at last the miracle of life was to ensue. With every small particle of mass expanding and automating itself inside the fruit which fed from its fathertree's sunlight and energy, every calorie being converted into another precious gram of moisture and biological matter to provide a greater house of protection for the jewel contained within. Plastered with wetness, and attached to its life source, slowly faltering in its grasp, was the seed, hard and ripe with life. All the genetic matter confined to a single space, inedible and protected by the soft surroundings that may act as a distraction to the world of predators surrounding it. Despite how many hang from the wooden pillar of life, none was less precious than the other, each a testament to the tree's strength with which it granted the earth the right to house it.
The forces of gravity and natural reaction slowly conquer one another, each small amount of moisture added to the mass of the peach brings it closer to its mother, from whence it once came and now returns to, armed with several generations of improvement, nutrients and life. At long last the limits have been breached, and the acceleration from the very core of the earth finally breaks loose the umbilical stem of life from its child, and the force of the Earth's mass causes it to land on the ground. With a soft splash of dew and the gentle rustle of grass, the fruit of life has been dispatched, cradled gently in the hundreds of thin green arms its mother was granted.
Time passes, and as the soft layers of flesh slowly pour and tear away with degradation, sedimentary deterioration and quick, unrelenting death at the very henchmen that would offer life to its mother, the seed is stripped free and pulled closer and closer to God, embedding itself deep in the cool welcoming warmth which will become its womb. Arbitrary to any other life form, to it the origin of all of its glory, another testament to the fathertree being written into the Earth, never freeing itself from the mother's supportive grasp until death allowed mother and child to be parted.
Rising from the ground as a pillar of perseverance and strength, the leaves blew gently in the smooth spring breeze, morning dew dripping gently from the edges of its stems. The blossoming flowers of pink and green in the sunlight cast shadows upon the moist grass, the soil fertile and nutrient; between the small fragile roots comprising the undergrowth of the grass swaying in predictable and progressively slower repetition lies the vast array of microbes festering through the ground. Feeding on every small spurt of waste produced by the grass, living off of the sunlight vicariously and second-handedly through the miracle of photo-synthesis, are the henchmen amongst which the partnership of soil and tree may perform its work. With each passing day, the soil grew richer and thicker, moister and more invigorated as the tree fed off of it, only performing the duty it was born to perform. Unaware of the soft peaches hanging loosely from the flowers, and the animals that they would feed day by day who would live off them thanklessly, only with their own wastes and biological matter left as a payment; even in the realm of nature nothing is granted freely, all things must be provided for.
Desolate save for the quiet chirping of birds in the distance, at last the miracle of life was to ensue. With every small particle of mass expanding and automating itself inside the fruit which fed from its fathertree's sunlight and energy, every calorie being converted into another precious gram of moisture and biological matter to provide a greater house of protection for the jewel contained within. Plastered with wetness, and attached to its life source, slowly faltering in its grasp, was the seed, hard and ripe with life. All the genetic matter confined to a single space, inedible and protected by the soft surroundings that may act as a distraction to the world of predators surrounding it. Despite how many hang from the wooden pillar of life, none was less precious than the other, each a testament to the tree's strength with which it granted the earth the right to house it.
The forces of gravity and natural reaction slowly conquer one another, each small amount of moisture added to the mass of the peach brings it closer to its mother, from whence it once came and now returns to, armed with several generations of improvement, nutrients and life. At long last the limits have been breached, and the acceleration from the very core of the earth finally breaks loose the umbilical stem of life from its child, and the force of the Earth's mass causes it to land on the ground. With a soft splash of dew and the gentle rustle of grass, the fruit of life has been dispatched, cradled gently in the hundreds of thin green arms its mother was granted.
Time passes, and as the soft layers of flesh slowly pour and tear away with degradation, sedimentary deterioration and quick, unrelenting death at the very henchmen that would offer life to its mother, the seed is stripped free and pulled closer and closer to God, embedding itself deep in the cool welcoming warmth which will become its womb. Arbitrary to any other life form, to it the origin of all of its glory, another testament to the fathertree being written into the Earth, never freeing itself from the mother's supportive grasp until death allowed mother and child to be parted.
