Sylvani Starchild-St.Clair
Bio
Stories (2/0)
The Finding Day
My grandmother’s vegetable garden had been around longer than I, longer than even my mother, had been alive. She had planted the first cabbages even as humanity embroiled itself in yet another World War. She herself had barely escaped with her life, and at least some of her family, as an evil seed of hate, planted by angry men and fertilized by hunger, began to sprout in Germany. She was a little girl then, but she could remember the whirlwind of activity in the family home as her mama and papa bundled her up and spirited her away in the dark of night. Other than that, she said remembered sitting for a long time in a gently swaying darkness, and being told to stay very quiet for what felt like a very, very long time. And when they made their home in America, she and her mama put their tired hands in the warm earth, and she’d had the honor of putting the little, precious cabbage seeds in the ground herself. I’d spent many Springtime afternoons in that sunny front yard after school, winding the little tendrils of bean plants around long, thin stakes of bamboo. “Soon they will be as tall as you, shayna punim,” she would say, peeking at me through the rows of climbing plants. “They just need a little encouragement.” That was part of her philosophy of life. Whatever a body needs, you can coax out of the Earth with a little encouragement and a guiding hand. Her soup pot was often full of the rewards of this philosophy.
By Sylvani Starchild-St.Clair3 years ago in Fiction
You Find A Letter...
"To my dearest Whomever-It-May-Concern, I am dying. No, to put it more accurately, I am giving up my immortality. I am leaving this world we built. No one will know where I have gone, and since I will no longer be filling my production quota, they will not bother to look for me. I will be dead to the world. No matter, for this world is dead to me.
By Sylvani Starchild-St.Clair3 years ago in Fiction