Harvest Time

 

Photo of irrigated wheat field in Zambia used as a prompt for a micro fiction story
Irrigated Wheat Field, Wikimedia Commons

A gust of wind against sheathed blades of wheat conducted an orchestra of swooshes and scratches, accompanied by booms of pollen grains crashing as they set sail to germinate or wreak havoc with hay-feverish humans. Like listening to a drum beat from within its hide and metal enclosure, my senses were overstimulated, sound compounded by sight and smell, with the distinct musk of earth and vivid shades of greens, browns and blues swathing field and sky, cognition that made me certain I was me.

SWOOSH, SCRATCH, BOOM, the blades continued to sway. When the tip of one folded back on itself, a lifetime of recognition and knowing came to me. My consciousness had transmigrated.

I was Wheat Leaf.

I held on to my conviction of the worthiness of my sacrifice, to rescue humanity via doses of glutinous products fortified with cognizance, but I had no idea I’d feel and know. As the imposing harvester cut its destructive path on approach, I felt a terror I’d not known in my previous incarnation. It was then I understood the movement of the other blades for what they were, and joined in their screams, a vain attempt to alter our collective fate.

 

199 words inspired by Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge #7 . This is a follow on from my most recent flash fiction story featuring Dr Woodrow. Critical feedback from Jane or other readers most welcome and appreciated.

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