Flowerpot

On Monday she got an old flowerpot out of the basement, filled it with soil, put some seeds in and spread yet a thin layer of soil on top. She watered it a little and set the flowerpot on the windowsill.

Every evening before she went to bed she checked the flowerpot on the ledge, probing the soil with the tip of her index finger, and watered it if it seemed too dry.

Then work piled up and she kept coming home later and later. She barely had the time to do the housework before she collapsed onto her bed and fell asleep exhausted. She forgot to check on the flowerpot. Even as she pulled the curtains apart in the mornings and back in the evening, she did it automatically, without taking a glance down at the patiently waiting flowerpot.

She started feeling like a robot, doing meaningless work, mechanically coming and going, washing, dressing, cooking cleaning, going to bed, getting up, and everything all over again.

Only the next Friday, while she was washing the dishes, the sound of running water stirred a memory in her numbness. She put the dish she had been holding into the sink and hurried to the window.

There in the dried, cracked soil was a small green offshoot. She leaned closer to see it better and her eyes moistened. Amidst the emptiness of her apartment, there was a small sign of life.

I wrote this post for Red Writing Hood, a weekly writing meme hosted at The Red Dress Club. It has been a long time since I participated, so I am very happy to have made it today. This week's prompt from Carrie of Views fom Nature asked us to write flash fiction – 300 words maximum – inspired by the word "Life."