(Prompt: Field)

The Generational Trauma of Grass

Wintford

For a blade of grass, life is a miraculous thing. For these first months of my life, this lonely field I call home has only brought me hardships—numbing cold, little direct sunlight, and frozen sheets of white from the clouds in the sky. My father tried to warn me of the world’s danger, but they were even worse than he could imagine. While some grass would lose faith at the face of these trials, I’ve long felt a hope—that my offspring will live in a world better than this one.

And at last, she is here! Sprig, my pride and joy. Just one week old, her life is blossoming. If I’m lucky, she’ll live a healthy three months, as long as any blade of grass can hope to live. What a shame, then, that my own roots will soon wither away, leaving Sprig on her lonesome, in a chilled world of isolation…

As such, I’ve dedicated the rest of my life to imparting the wisdom she’ll need to survive; and, with any luck, thrive. Today’s lesson comes with the hardest memories for me to dredge up; I can only hope I don’t traumatize young Sprig in the process.

“My daughter, it’s time for you to learn the true dangers of clouds.”

“Uh, dad? You taught me about them before. I already know what to do—just wait it out, and don’t expect any more sun until the wind blows them away.”

My tone started to droop as I realized just how little she knew. “Unfortunately, clouds can carry something even more dangerous—snow.”

Sprig looked annoyed. “So it’s like rain, then? Rain’s good, I’ve already seen it plenty. Is that it? I have stuff to do today.”

Just like my daughter, I too was becoming annoyed. “Listen, Sprig—if the rain looks white and moves slow, you need to prepare! Keep as much water as you can, photosynthesize while you can, and don’t give up. Just know that there's a light at the end of it all! It will melt, it may take weeks, you just have to believe!”

“Dad, you really don’t have to be so dramatic…”

Have I lost touch with my daughter? “Sprig, I don’t know when it will snow, but I know you need to be prepared! Just as my father warned me about the world he lived in, it’s my job to teach you about the dangers I’ve faced.”

“But that’s the thing Dad, none of those dangers have actually happened! No wind chills, no frost snaps, and definitely no SNOW! So please, let me live my own life!”

It was as if all the water had left my body. Not even the frost felt as bad as this. Does the trauma I’ve faced really mean nothing to my own daughter?

It seemed like Sprig noticed the change in my demeanor. “Dad, hey… let’s talk about this later, okay? I just… need some time on my own.”

And with that, Sprig faced away, becoming the independent teenager I feared she would. I can only hope I’ve imparted enough wisdom onto her, with how little time I have left…

I want only the best for you, Sprig.

Sprig

For a blade of grass, life has its ups and downs. Growing up after my father’s passing was tough, but during these three months of my life, I’ve had heaps of help from the grass community. From the way Dad talked about it, I thought the closest blade of grass would be so far, potentially inches away - but look at me, just millimeters from my closest friends and family! The weather is only getting warmer, and the sun stays out for longer and longer…

If only my ungrateful son would realize how good he has it.

Sumna has been a pain since he first sprouted. My dad made raising a kid look easy, though it might’ve just been the way he anxiously overprepared for everything. Sumna is almost two weeks old - was I this much of a pain back then? While he’s still a young sprout, I know I’m not. My own time is almost up- so I’m trying to enjoy my life the way my dad never tried to enjoy his. Still, following his example, I’m trying to teach my son the bare lessons he needs to be the best grass he can be.

“So, Sumna, the last lesson is—hey, Sumna. Hey. Hey! Listen when I’m talking to you.”

He was lying at an angle where he could get the most sunlight with the least amount of effort. “Mom, I don’t get what you’re trying to do. Am I in trouble or something?”

“You’re not in trouble. Not yet, at least. If you listen to me, you’ll get yourself out of trouble in the future. So pay attention.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dismissive. Ungrateful. I don’t like his tone, but it’s not worth the time to fix it—I don’t want to waste either of our days longer than I have to.

“Sumna, you need to watch out for the humans. Towering behemoths, their rubber roots can crush us. But unlike us, they don’t stay put, and are always changing where they’re planted. And that's our key to surviving—patience. Hold onto your water, store your sunlight, and tough it out until they leave!” Jeez, I sound like my dad, and his… What was it? Snew?

“Mom, respectfully, I’ve never seen anything like that. Yeah, I’ve seen a lot of water come from the sky, but ‘rubber’ roots? Rubber sounds like something you’d make up to scare me. Like the snew.”

“Sumna, the rain is what keeps them away. When it stops raining so much, that’s when they’ll be back to terrorize us!”

He started to perk up - though I could see the annoyance on his face. “Mom, are you telling me there’s someone out there who *doesn’t* like the rain? Now you’re just making stuff up. If you could quit wasting my time and let me get back to my sunbathing, that’d be great.” And as quick as he leaned up, he leaned back into his slouched, lazy posture.

So I’ve raised a brat. Got it. It’s fine, I can always teach him more tomorrow. And if that doesn’t work for him, then the next day… or maybe the day after. He should be fine, in the end, right?

Sumna, I can only hope you straighten out and become a good blade of grass- like your grandfather was.

Sumna

Being a blade of grass is a pretty sweet deal. The sun’s out almost all the time, and there’s plenty of rain. My friends complain about getting stepped on, but that’s a *them* problem. Maybe if they picked a better spot to grow, like I did, they’d quit complaining.

“Dad! Help!”

And there goes my son. Auton. What a crybaby! Most of the other blades don’t believe we’re related. He must have the recessive weakling genes, since he’s nothing like me. My Mom sure wasn’t a pushover like him!

“Really, I need help! Dad, please!”

I slowly lean up from my sunbathing spot—Auton’s hiding under some orange sheet.

“Dad, this fell on my head, and now I can’t feel any sunlight. My friends call it a leaf, but I thought their stories were just to scare me. Will it ever go away? I… I’m scared, Dad.”

Ugh, what a complainer. Fine then. One of my Mom’s old lessons should shut him up. “Listen, Auton. Once upon a time, a white, slow rain fell from the sky. They called it Snewp. The grass waited, then all the Snewp went away. See? You’ll be fine.” I think that’s how it went. Honestly, I haven’t thought about my Mom’s stories in a while…

“This didn’t come from the sky though, it came from a tree! And it doesn’t feel cold… are you sure that this is the Snewp?”

“Son, the things on the trees are green, always have been. That thing is orange! It’s the Snewp. Now, leave me alone.”

Even though I couldn’t see him under his so-called ‘leaf’, I could tell he wasn’t happy with that answer. “But you said the Snewp was white! Do you have any other ideas for how to get rid of it? Please, Dad, I’m scared…”

I leaned down to his level. I think he needs to hear this. “Auton, it’s time for you to learn a valuable lesson. And that is, that I can’t be the one to teach you everything. The world isn’t a scary place, it’s easy to live in! Sure, it’s gotten a little colder, but the sun’ll help with that. And yeah, the sun has been out less, but it’ll be back to normal soon. So just don’t worry! Look at how big, watered, and green I am. The same will happen to you. Just give it some time.”

“If you’re sure, Dad… I’ll trust you. But you better be telling the truth!”

…Did he buy that? Probably. He should stop worrying—life is easy. 

Maybe by the time he’s grown up, Auton’ll stop being such a crybaby. Hmph, like that’ll ever happen!

Auton

For a blade of grass, life is painful. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve dealt with one tragedy after another - first came the leaves, falling off the trees in a near-endless onslaught, blocking out the sun and rain. In the brief moments the wind blew them away from us, we’d be lucky to get any sunlight at all - the time the sun was out got shorter and shorter every day. I’ve gone from a firm fresh green to a dull, limp brown. I never thought the beginning of my life would be as good as it gets, but nobody ever does, right?

How can I begin to explain this to my daughter? My dear Winta, sweet as can be, has no idea how painful life can be. Only a few days old, would knowing this break her pure heart?

“Daddy, look! Something’s coming from the sky!”

Oh no, it’s happening again! More piles of leaves? I look up at the trees - all empty. Is it another frigid rainstorm? No, if it was, I would have felt its piercing blows. I look up - this was white, slow, and dangerous.

“That must be it… the senewp.” I can’t believe it. That stupid story my Dad made up… it was real?

“It’s so cute! Look at it fall!”

“Winta, Watch out! You don’t know what it’ll do to you!”

I watch as a piece of senewp fell onto my daughter, and braced for the worst - I can’t bear to imagine the pain she’s about to feel.

…

But instead, she looks… happy?

“Brr, it's a little chilly, but look! It melted, and now it tastes just like the yummy rain! And there’s more coming too!”

Is Winta actually enjoying this? She’s being a fool. The cold from the senewp could freeze her. The cloud the senewp came from could block out all sunlight for the day. I want to warn her.

…

But I look at her again. Even as this storm gets heavier, she’s enjoying every second. This weather is unlike anything I’ve ever seen- is it right for me to make her fear something she enjoys so much? No. It can’t be. She deserves a chance to experience life in this field, unburdened from my experiences. 

Winta’s laughter broke my contemplation. “Wow, look at all this white stuff! What did you call it again, daddy?”

“Senewp… it’s called senewp, dear.”

“That’s a stupid name. Why don’t we call it something cuter? Like snow! I hope I get to see a lot more snow!”

Ha, that’s my daughter. Cheerful as a blade of grass can be. For her to be born with such a strong hope, one that I lack… life may not be easy for her, but I think Winta has what it takes to make the most out of this painful existence.

Winta

For a blade of grass such as myself, life is a miraculous thing. For these first months of my life, this field I call home has brought me hardships, but also beauty—serene isolation, dazzling sunbeams through the thick clouds, and clean sheets of white snow blessing our field with water to last for weeks. While some grass would lose faith at the face of these trials, I’ve always had a knack for seeing the beauty in struggle. I have hope that my offspring will have the courage to face the unknown, just as I have.

And at last, she is here!