Bloom
Everyone knew a blooming tower restored the land. No one spoke about what it took in return.
Written in response to the August 3rd (Day One) prompt of Smogust.
I watched as it hovered around the tower, its scales so dark they seemed to absorb the rising light of dawn.
Our tower hadn’t bloomed in nearly twenty years, and everyone claimed we’d been abandoned by the gods. Cursed, even. But as I watched the dragon circle the anther as though tasting the air, then settle itself at the tip, I smiled.
Leaning heavily against me, Grandma Evie coughed out a laugh. “I told you, child. I told you they’d come back.”
“You did, Grandma,” I answered. “But will it make a difference?”
“You just watch.”
So we did. We watched the massive wings close around the slender stamen. Within minutes, the rippling edges of the tower’s top began to spread and unfurl in the growing light. A moment later the dragon rose into the air, circled the tower twice and disappeared into the bright sunlight.
But the tower continued to bloom, its flowering top soon fully open.
Grandma coughed again, then tugged at my arm. “Look! Look there!”
I looked to where her gnarled finger was pointing. At the base of the tower, the pale green of the grass was growing darker. Even as we stared, the hue deepened from pale fern to meadow green to the darkest jungle shade.
It flowed outward from the tower’s base in a broadening circle. Wherever it passed, the washed-out land flooded with color — pale stalks straightening, new blades breaking through the black loamy soil, the whole countryside waking behind it. As the wave reached our hill, the sickly grass around our boots thickened and darkened, fresh shoots forcing their way between the brittle stalks.
“It’s just as I promised,” Grandma wheezed.
I nodded. It was. She’d always said the dragons could bring back the land.
In the field nearby, the seeds we’d planted weeks earlier began to sprout and grow into tall verdant stalks. The harvest would be good this year — better than we’d had in a decade.
All because of one dragon.
“It’s time, boy,” Grandma murmured quietly.
I stiffened as she tugged again at my arm. “No, Grandma. It’s not done yet.”
Her wizened face creased in a sad smile. “It’s done enough, child.”
She turned and took a step toward the tower. When I didn’t follow, she paused and turned back to me. “Don’t make me go alone now.”
I sobbed once. Bit it back and nodded. I hurriedly took two steps and caught her arm again, supporting her as best I could, this one last time.
We walked toward the tower. My steps were faltering, hesitant. I didn’t want to reach our destination. But Grandma never wavered; her gait was steadier than I’d seen it in years.
It took nearly two hours, but as we approached the small door set into the tower’s base, I stopped again, my grip firm on her arm.
“There has to be another way,” I whispered desperately.
“Oh, Lucas, my boy. This is what I’ve been waiting for.” She patted my cheek gently, and slowly but firmly pulled her arm from my grasp.
“Hug me and tell me goodbye,” she said, standing tall and straight-backed, the curve in her spine that had weakened and slowed her for the last eight years suddenly seeming gone.
I threw my arms around her, holding her close and crying into the thin, spider-web strands of her hair. “How can I go on without you?” I cried.
She patted my back and laughed. “You’ll do just fine. You’ll probably miss me a bit for a while, but with me gone, you’ll have room to invite Becca to come live with you.”
I laughed a little through the tears, but before I could answer, she’d pulled from my grasp, stepped to the tower door and opened it. She looked back at me just once.
“I love you, Lucas. Never forget. When the flowers bloom and the wheat grows tall and the grass is soft beneath your feet, remember that’s my love for you.”
“I love you, too, Grandma,” I whispered as the door closed behind her.
I looked up to the heights where the tower soared overhead, the indigo bloom still opening and spreading. Already I stood in shadow beneath its petals. The tower walls began to pulse gently, then picked up speed — expanding and contracting in rapid succession as it swallowed and stored a single life for the next blooming season.
With a sigh, I turned toward home, my tears watering the new grass as I passed.
‼️ Dark. Snarky. Character-driven.
If that's your thing, you've just scratched the surface.
🐒 Did this story make you roll your eyes, cough, or raise a brow? If it did, buy me a cup of existential dread and maybe I’ll write a little more.
NOOOOO GRANDMAAAAAA T-T I'm sad now
This is lovely and touching. Skip generation love is a special sort of love, isn't it?