When Pumpkins Breathe
What one loves seldom leaves.
What one loves is seldom left behind. Happy Hallowtide, all!
🌕🍂🎃🌾🎃🍁🌕🎃🍂🌾🎃🍁🌕🍂🎃🌾🎃🍁🌕🎃🍂🌾🎃🍁
The garden bathed in silver moonlight, pumpkin vines coiling beneath fresh soil. Sandra's fingers ran along the cool skin of a pumpkin--it throbbed, as if in a dream.
Old Sebastian had said that they grew best near Hallowtide--when the Earth recalled the names of those within them.
She edged closer to the ground, her eyes on a flicker of light sparking deep within. For a second, she believed it was her reflection. Then, the pumpkin--
Smiled.
Her grandmother's smile.
Tender.
Knowing.
Sandra teared, not with sadness, but knowing--
That nothing she loved ever truly left.
It grew again---sprouting different vines.
🌕🍂🎃🌾🎃🍁🌕🎃🍂🌾🎃🍁🌕🍂🎃🌾🎃🍁🌕🎃🍂🌾🎃🍁
Original story by Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin. AI tags are coincidental
About the Creator
Michelle Liew Tsui-Lin
Hi, i am an English Language teacher cum freelance writer with a taste for pets, prose and poetry. When I'm not writing my heart out, I'm playing with my three dogs, Zorra, Cloudy and Snowball.
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