Your Story #132

Prompt: Write a drabble—a short story of exactly 100 words—based on the photo prompt below. You can be funny, poignant, witty, etc.; it is, after all, your story.

Email your submission to yourstorycontest@aimmedia.com with the subject line "Your Story 132."

No attachments, please. Include your name and mailing address. Entries without a name or mailing address with be disqualified.

Unfortunately, we cannot respond to every entry we receive, due to volume. No confirmation emails will be sent out to confirm receipt of submission. But be assured all submissions received before entry deadline are considered carefully. Official Rules.

Entry Deadline: CLOSED

Out of nearly over 100 entries, WD editors chose the following 6 finalists. Vote for your favorite using the poll at the bottom of the page.

He could feel it in his bones. The field called to him. He barely knew where he lived or who took care of him these days, but he knew those fields. He had spent thousands of minutes, hours, and days in those fields, and muscle memory took his unsteady feet there. The rough feel of the tobacco leaves. His fingers feeling sticky and itchy. He was always so tough, working from sun up to sun down. The old straw hat shields his face from the sun. He would like to lie down here and let the fields take him home.

Frank Archello re-read the instructions. He knew he was stalling, of course. What if they hated him? The thought pulled his shoulders down.

The Botanical-Human Interpretation device buzzed to life. Frank attached the electrodes to the stem, as instructed. “I love y’all,” he whispered. His shoulders grew even heavier.

Frank’s voice quivered as he asked the only question he could muster. “Am I treating you right?” He stood and wiped the sweat from his face.

Time slowed as the first letters appeared on the small screen. Frank dropped to his knees, tears falling into the rich, dark soil.

“Also love.”

“And this one means you’re sympathetic.”

The gardener traced his finger along the leaf’s vein and spouted off more deductions for every dark green line, glancing at the notepad in his hand for reference. The other leaves on the vine rustled, impressed.

The vine’s incredulous sigh was lost to the wind. If it had eyes to roll, the gesture would have outshone any snippy teenager. What a load of hogwash.

“And this one means you come from a good, sturdy vine.”

The vine straightened itself with a haughty air. Well. Maybe this guy had some sense in him after all.

The afternoon sun beamed warmly on the surrounding fields. As they strolled down the border rows, Em suggested Jose enter the fair competition. He paused before agreeing.

At the contest, the judge hefted the bundle of leaves then awarded Jose First prize, and suggested he share his secret formula to grow basil leaves so large. Taking the prize, Jose smiled enigmatically, declining to answer.

Returning to his farm, Jose laid an offering beside a tiny twig house among the plants before heading to his own bed.

How big will the leaves be tomorrow after the crop fairy’s night of dusting?

Moshe eyed the vine borer eggs on the underside of the leaf. Impossible; no such creature should have touched these plants, nor had they been brought to this world, but his Analyzer had never been wrong before. Most of the plants were clean, but even if only one were infested, by next year it would be far more; pesticides no longer existed. There was no way he could check the entire field in time by himself, but who could help him without squealing or killing him? Moshe knew only one thing for certain; someone on Planet Ark was a traitor. 

“Here it is,” John muttered, pushing aside the leaves. “X always marks the spot.”

In his right hand, John held the map he for years had promised his father never to touch. Supposedly, buried under the X was a family secret that must never be dug up.

John got down on one knee and began shovelling aside the soil beneath him, his heart racing as his lifelong questions would soon be answered.

Finally, in front of him, a box.

Elated, he popped its lid. A note.

It read: “Haha, I was just kidding! But here’s a fiver for your dedication!"