HINTERLAND TIMES - The First Drop

Sarah Nettlefold, age13

Growing plants was illegal. Wasting water carried a huge fine. I poured a cup into the crack anyway. The gentle trickle of water echoed through the forest of skyscrapers around me, its fragile melody drowned beneath the hum of nearby machinery. It overflowed from the narrow fissure in the pavement, splashing against my legs and sending a chill through my body. The sun barely reached the ground, blocked by the towering buildings that surrounded me. I stared at the thin gap in the concrete. Five weeks. Still nothing. 

“Are you still trying to grow that plant, Eli?” A voice giggled from above me. 

I glanced up at my neighbour leaning over her balcony, watching me with a mix of amusement and pity.

“Look around you," she called, arm sweeping toward the city. “You know why they outlawed them. One tree drank more water than a family. Plants took up land we couldn’t afford to lose.” Her brow furrowed as she looked down at me. 

“I’ve seen them in old pictures,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

“Pretty pictures don’t show the whole story,” she replied almost instantly.

“Neither does concrete.”

I’d spent hours staring at faded photographs. They showed endless forests stretching further than the eye could see, children climbing branches, flowers blooming in colours I'd only ever seen on a screen, impossible shapes and textures–

My neighbour’s sigh drifted down from above, dragging me back to the present.

 "Good luck with that, Eli,” she said softly, though her voice carried no belief that I would succeed. 

I had rounded the corner clutching a bottle close to my chest. My eyes caught polished black boots disappearing into the shadows. 

I froze. 

Yesterday, there had been a crack. 

Today there was only fresh grey concrete, glistening where the slit had been just moments before. My arms fell limply to my sides, the bottle slipping from my fingers. Water spread against the ground. It had nowhere to go.

For the first time in weeks, I didn’t go back. There was no water in my hands. Nothing to pull me back towards the cracked cement. Part of me still expected the crack to be there, that I would return again. I stared dully out the window. Smooth pavement. Bleak buildings. Still no plants. 

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence, making me flinch. All I could picture were the polished black boots from yesterday. Had they found me? I swallowed hard as my hand hovered over the handle, silently hoping it wasn’t them. With an exhale, I pushed the door open. 

The hallway was empty. No sign of the polished boots. Only a bottle of water. I frowned. My eyes slowly drifted to the small object next to the bottle, before widening in surprise. A small seed, barely the size of my thumbnail, lay on the carpeted ground. I stood there, staring for a while longer. A thin smile spread across my lips. Slowly, I picked up the bottle and seed, before glancing around the apartment hallway once more. 

The next morning, I returned.

Another crack waited in the concrete. I knelt beside it, planting the seed and tipping the bottle. 

Before the last drop had fallen, a new stream of water flowed into the crack next to mine. 

I looked up. My neighbour tilted her empty bottle and smiled at me. More footsteps echoed behind her.

One pair.

Then another. 

Knees met the ground beside mine. 

The gentle trickle of water echoed through the forest of skyscrapers around me. 

This time, it wasn’t drowned out.