Dandelion

• Nabeel Ziyad, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

You look up into the pale off white glow emitting from the spring sun, as the fluffy clouds sluggishly part revealing the ball of sun behind it. You turn to see all the withered flowers crushed and scattered across the garden. You find that you are one of the very few survivors left.

The mild wind starts to build up blowing, you are pushed around your spot. The time isn't right, not yet, you think. You are firm waiting for it. Around you, your kind have already left in swift flight. You look to see them floating in the air gracefully. They sway from side to side falling, but falling elegantly, falling like an angel.

The wind starts to strengthen now, forcing off most the others, you think about budging but no, not now. Around you, the rest have departed flying away. The dandelion’s petals once again drop airborne, falling. Falling graciously, falling like an angel.

Around you there are none left, all gone. Suddenly you feel alone, stranded by yourself, on the one flower in the whole garden. Beyond you there is still signs of hope. Hope, in the battered garden, where the grass entangled in overgrown swirls, all strangling on weeds sprouting in several different places knotted with the grass throughout the whole garden. But beyond that lies hope, past the choking grass, past the chaotic weeds, is a final dandelion, you.

The wind builds up pulling on your fluffy petals, finally you let loose, letting go, feeling the sweet release of liberty. The breeze flying through you gave a euphoric feeling. You look across the wide horizon, the sun setting on a crisp spring day. The sun, lay low on the ground bright blood orange, as you drifted towards the gaseous object.

You kept gliding till you at last reach a halt. The wind surging throughout your body has now stopped. Your surge of adrenaline now over, your euphoria short-lived and your freedom stripped from you. You look down surprised from how high up the zephyr has taken you. You are no longer in your old, neglected garden home, you are high in the sky descending below.


Unable to see any further with the soft mist blocking your limited view. You hope for the best. All the other petals of the flower had parted from you leaving you to embark upon this journey alone. All the wind had now gone and you drop freely, your light weight hold you up slightly making it look like you are seamlessly floating through space.
The mist clears and you can see your landing point about twenty metres down, now you start to fall. Falling in a whirling motion, falling stylishly, falling like an angel…