He took a last glance at the dried up date pit in his palm, before casting it over the edge. It landed a few feet below, stuck in a clump of dried up earth. Perhaps it would stay there forever, watching the earth and sky change around it, until, like everything, it eventually turned to dust.
Or perhaps, he thought again, it might rain, and someday he would come by this very spot to see his beautiful palm tree at the centre of an oasis.
He would come back someday, and see what came of it, but now was no time for such dreams.
He put another date in his mouth, and chewed its dry flesh as he wandered back towards the mountains.
They were not giant but they were grand in their own way. Full of crags and crevices the face always reminded him of an old man, weathered and scarred but still with a twinkle in his eye.
The mountains were a friend to him, they told him secrets in their whistles in the passing wind, and showed him things he’d never hoped to see.
Today as he walked through the mountains they seemed quiet in a way he’d never heard before. All was still around him, and as he looked to the sky he saw great clouds forming in the east. He thought of his date pit in the dry soil, would this be the start of some great new thing? He sat on a stone and watched the ever approaching storm. It was not till the first drops of rain spattered at his feet that he thought to seek shelter. Some little ways up the path two great rocks which had slid many years ago formed a sort of roof under which he could take refuge.
As he huddled under the rock the rain intensified until it became a torrential downpour. Rivulets formed in the rock, trickles which became thicker and thicker until the man feared he would be washed away. No longer afraid of getting wet he scrambled to the top of the stone slab.
Around him water gushed, carrying silt and gravel.
The rain stopped, but the water continued to flow and he remained stranded upon the rock. High above him a vulture pinwheeled. Perhaps, he thought, that bird is waiting for me to die.
He waited for the water to stop but it wouldn’t. In the new and intensified sun he found himself wilting. I’ll sleep for a while, he said laying down his head, and perhaps when I wake the water will be lower.
The next day the vulture descended to the stone, and for the first time in weeks he ate.
The water continued to flow, longer than was natural for such a rain, for some great stone had been moved, allowing one of the mountain springs to connect. The valley became one of fertility and plenty, and soon a small farming village formed there, then the village became a great city, and at the centre of the city was an enormous date palm.
This is such a beautiful and unique piece of writing!
I was so engrossed in the story that I could see myself stranded on that rock, waiting for the rain to relent.
You definitely should venture into fiction and fantasy too. Mashallah you have the knack of picking just the right words and drawing a reader in!
Looking forward to read more of your work!❤️
Bruh, you killed off the protagonist! He was supposed to come back and see if the pit turned into a tree.
A nice turn I must say. For a timed writing exercise, this is really awesome!! The scenery was so vivid and the personfocation of the mountain, the way the streams grew, all so splendid!
I must say, you a knack for writing fiction. You construct a good world; it lures you in.
Excited to read more! Maybe you should try short stories that are a little longer. It would give you space to build a stronger/longer plot as well.