{"id":6118,"date":"2021-10-17T07:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-10-17T13:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/?p=6118"},"modified":"2023-07-05T14:41:05","modified_gmt":"2023-07-05T20:41:05","slug":"short-story-sprouts","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/","title":{"rendered":"Short Story: Sprouts"},"content":{"rendered":"<div style=\"padding-bottom:20px; padding-top:10px;text-align: center;\" class=\"hupso-share-buttons\"><!-- Hupso Share Buttons - https:\/\/www.hupso.com\/share\/ --><a class=\"hupso_toolbar\" href=\"https:\/\/www.hupso.com\/share\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/static.hupso.com\/share\/buttons\/dot.png\" style=\"border:0px; padding-top: 5px; float:left;\" alt=\"Share Button\"\/><\/a><script type=\"text\/javascript\">var hupso_services_t=new Array(\"Twitter\",\"Facebook\",\"Google Plus\",\"Pinterest\",\"Linkedin\",\"Tumblr\",\"StumbleUpon\",\"Digg\",\"Reddit\",\"Email\",\"Print\");var hupso_background_t=\"#EAF4FF\";var hupso_border_t=\"#66CCFF\";var hupso_toolbar_size_t=\"big\";var hupso_image_folder_url = \"\";var hupso_twitter_via=\"bxwretlind\";var hupso_url_t=\"\";var hupso_title_t=\"Short%20Story%3A%20Sprouts\";<\/script><script type=\"text\/javascript\" src=\"https:\/\/static.hupso.com\/share\/js\/share_toolbar.js\"><\/script><!-- Hupso Share Buttons --><\/div>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I took a trip there a few weeks after the fire had been put out and snapped the picture that inspired this story (see the sprouts in the middle). I didn&#8217;t actually write it until 2003, but it was that picture which was taped to my monitor the whole time.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-css-opacity\"\/>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy stood inside the forest for the first time since the fires. Remains of animals littered the ground, their bones hallowed divinations foretelling a failed future. The fog had rolled in through the night, and as the morning sun rose above the mountains to the southeast, Troy felt the chill burn off. Devastated Ponderosa trees, now nothing more than black sticks, stabbed heavenward, pathetic vestiges of what they once were. The ferns and other mosses, once thriving under the cover of a billion pine needles, were gone. Nature had unleashed its fury, pummeled the earth with chaotic slivers of searing heat, and set an inferno that cost the life of one person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Or was that two?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The silence overwhelmed\u2014heavy and oppressive. With each step Troy took, his foot pressed down on brittle bones, cracking them. The sound was louder despite the fog, and he felt he was disturbing sacred ground. Perhaps it was sacred ground\u2014after all, so much death leaves a scar. Still, he had to go forward, to walk deeper into the forest to find what he knew was there. It was too bad his discovery would be alone, if he found it at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDo you know what you\u2019re looking for?\u201d The ghost of a man Troy knew wasn\u2019t there whispered in the wind, gently stroked the dead sticks. \u201cI know you didn\u2019t bring me out here for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo, not nothing.\u201d Troy sighed. Perhaps talking to a ghost wasn\u2019t the most mature thing he could do, but then again, the ghost made for company and maybe\u2014just maybe\u2014acted as a cheap replacement for a psychologist\u2019s couch. He could almost see him, a gift of imagination and yet, a burden. There in the morning glow walked a man in his thirties, red hair, green eyes that embodied pure and crystalline beauty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The fog played with the ghost\u2019s image, first encapsulating the whole, then dissipating as he walked through it with Troy. In the morning light, the spirit seemed so real, yet Troy knew a thousand wishes cast into a thousand fountains would not change the truth: the man before him was only a projection from his tattered mind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThe place looks different, Troy. So much death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt\u2019s a beginning, Ian, not an end.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat are you looking for?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cA piece of myself. I must have left it behind the last time you and I were out here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian stopped beside a dead tree. He looked at Troy and sighed. \u201cPlease don\u2019t tell me it\u2019s your heart. You don\u2019t have one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy smiled weakly. Even ghosts could be sarcastic. \u201cNo, not my heart.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThen what did you lose?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cA piece of memory.\u201d Troy hesitated for a moment, trying to come up with words to explain his journey. \u201cIt\u2019s like\u2014 Try to look out the back of your head. What do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian let out a short laugh. \u201cNothing. You don\u2019t have eyes in the back of your head.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI know that, but hear me out. Try to look out the back of your head. You know something is there, but you just can\u2019t see it. The more you try, the more your imagination creates something for you out of what you already know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian furrowed his eyebrows. \u201cSo you\u2019re looking for a way to see out the back of your head?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy looked at Ian and then walked on. \u201cMaybe I shouldn\u2019t have brought you with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou didn\u2019t bring me, Troy. I\u2019m always with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cThen why can\u2019t you understand what I\u2019m trying to say?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou\u2019re not exactly being clear about all of this. What can\u2019t you see, and what is your imagination creating for you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy tried harder to form the words to explain himself. He didn\u2019t understand why he had to tell a ghost what he was doing, but in a way, it cleared his mind and let him reason through things he may not have thought before. What he knew was factual: he and Ian had gone camping in the forest. They made love, they ate beef stew from a tin can heated over a little campfire, and they explored the surrounding life. All of that made sense, and the more he thought of it, the more authentic it all seemed\u2014a painting which became more vibrant and priceless with age.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There was still something missing, however. A day? An hour? A few minutes? He couldn\u2019t remember how long it was, but there was definitely a void in his memory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The forest opened to a large clearing ringed by soot-covered, blackened tree stumps. Despite the fog, Troy recognized the location immediately. They had camped in the middle of the clearing, at times laying back on the forest floor and marveling at how countless stars graced the sky a hundred miles from city lights. He smiled and could almost see himself with Ian, pointing at various constellations and other stellar objects.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There was Orion the Hunter, Gemini the Twins, and if you looked just above that tree, you could see Mars. In the briefest of seconds, Troy felt like he was there again, the night cold but electric, the wind soft and inviting, the Milky Way painted across the sky in fine brush strokes by a master painter. In the middle of the forest, Troy and Ian were wrapped together in a blanket of love, oblivious to the rest of life outside of their little world, oblivious to the rejections and discrimination they both felt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat are you looking at?\u201d Ian\u2019s ghost materialized next to Troy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cCan\u2019t you see it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI see lifeless trees and death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIn the middle of the clearing, Ian. Look.\u201d Troy pointed, his hand shaking. \u201cThere\u2019s a beginning.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Twenty feet away, two small ferns grew from the ashes, the green a sharp contrast to the surrounding palette of despair. Troy walked toward the young plants, trying to picture the final moments before losing time. He imagined the campfire to the left, poorly put together with rocks laid out in a bad circle. Some rocks were still there, charred by the raging flames that had rushed through this part of the forest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To the right, a small stick stuck out of the ground, as black as all the others, but different enough to notice. He recalled pounding it into the dirt with one of the rocks, then tying off a cheap lean-to as shelter from the rain before they put up the tent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian\u2019s ghost flitted about here and there, seeming to take in the environment. It finally came to rest on top of the ferns, spreading its ethereal body across them, almost seductively. Troy watched Ian\u2019s vaporous breath, his chest heave in time to the beat of his heart. He was as beautiful now as he had ever been, a masterful brushstroke on the canvas of the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat do you see?\u201d Ian asked. Troy appraised the question: did he really care, or was this more conversation generated by his subconscious to arrive at answers?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI see where we camped, but nothing else.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou said time was missing. What was the last thing you remember?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy looked around at the campfire, the stick, the patch of open forest surrounding the ferns. \u201cThe fire. I remember the fire.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat about the fire?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt was dying. We lit it early, before the sun set, I think. I remember laying down with you in the tent.\u201d Troy smiled. \u201cYou were naked.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDid you throw more wood on the fire?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy hesitated before answering. \u201cNo. There was no wood&#8230; except&#8230;\u201d He turned to look back at the lean-to post. \u201cThe sticks from the lean-to. I pulled one of them out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian stood up and walked around Troy, a ghostly hand touching a shoulder. Troy swore he could feel warmth flowing through his body. That warmth crept past his shoulders, permeated his pores and filled each cell with comfort, cascading through his body until he felt alive. If this ghost was a figment of his imagination, then his imagination sure had a way of making things seem all too real.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian stopped circling Troy and stood in front of him. \u201cWhat happened next?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI bent over the fire with the stick, pushing on the embers. I\u2014 I don\u2019t know what happened next.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhat\u2019s the next thing you do remember?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy looked through the mist of Ian, into the eyes of his past. He tried to reason through it all, to make believe there really was nothing missing. All the pieces fit. All of time still existed. Maybe he just picked at the fire, then went to sleep. That was possible.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But no, something was missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d Troy sighed, and sat down next to the ferns. He stared at the campfire, trying to will his memory to the surface.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI loved you, Troy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI know that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cBut do you know how much?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy looked up at the ghost. Ian appeared more real than before, less transparent and brighter. His green eyes seemed to seek answers deep inside of Troy. His lips parted, soft and supple, wet and glistening in the morning sun. He smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cHow much could you love me?\u201d Troy felt the corners of his eyes moisten. \u201cI was always blue, a depressing person to be around, afraid of what people would say. I loved you, but could only show you through written words. I never was much for conversation.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYes, you were. I loved talking to you. I loved the way you made me feel when we were together. I just couldn\u2019t&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian\u2019s words trailed off. He turned his head and crossed his arms. The sun caught a tear on his cheek.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI just couldn\u2019t accept your moods. You wanted to leave me, to run out on our future. And you wanted me to accept that, as if all I was made to do was stand next to your side for all eternity.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI thought that\u2019s what soulmates did\u2014stand next to each other.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou lied to me, Troy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI told you half-truths, Ian. It\u2019s not the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy sighed and stood up, intending to walk away and forget all of this. He didn\u2019t need to get into an argument with a speck of his subconscious. He didn\u2019t need to be called a liar again. He didn\u2019t need to hear words shot at him from a verbal cannon. He could feel it coming\u2014the yelling, the name-calling, the emptiness in the pit of his stomach every time he realized he hurt Ian.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He wasn\u2019t even real!<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy smirked. He looked around in silence, taking in the view from the clearing. The Ponderosa trees\u2014or what remained of them\u2014stood like sentinels, pointing defiantly toward Heaven, like they outlasted the worst God could throw at them and still stood proud. Water would rejuvenate them, they would sprout needles, and they would turn green again. All around, plant life would return, the animals would find shelter, the seeds would fall and germinate. Life would be reborn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cWhy did you leave me, Ian?\u201d It was a question he knew the answer to, but he asked nonetheless. Perhaps deep down, the ghost of Ian\u2014the shrink in his brain\u2014would have another reason found buried between what his heart knew and his mind let go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI never left you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou ran off with him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou let me go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo. I never let go of you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIgnoring me, Troy, not meeting the needs I had as a human being.\u201d A tear fell from his eyes. \u201cThat was letting me go. I couldn\u2019t take it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDid you ever think of giving me another chance? Did you ever think all I needed to do was grow up and accept the way I was?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian scoffed, turned away from Troy, and walked over to the campfire. \u201cAnd what was I supposed to do? Wait forever? I had needs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy sat back down on the ground next to the ferns. He stared at the green fronds; so stark their color was against the pitted grey of the forest floor. The two ferns shared what little water there might be underground in their struggle to start over amidst the ruins.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">The sun slid behind a cloud, and for a moment cast an eerie shadow on the clearing. Ian stood by the campfire, looking down. He was much more real than the misty vision he\u2019d seen as he was walking up. Perhaps this place was magic, a sacred burial ground of old memories and lost loves, capable of pulling even the deepest of receding dreams and making them real. It certainly felt that way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy brushed his leg against something sharp. He winced and looked down under the ferns. Poking through the dirt was the rusted claw of a hammer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to do it, Troy.\u201d Ian\u2019s voice was soft, almost lost in the calm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy pushed the ferns aside and dug around the hammer, trying to pull it free.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian turned around, a tear crawling down a cheek. His lips quivered. \u201cI just wanted to be free. I wanted to be free of complications.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy dug faster, finally pulling the hammer out of the dirt. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDo you remember now?\u201d Ian\u2019s words seemed to emanate from inside Troy. They charged a billion synapses firing at once. Memories flooded forward as the dam holding it back was destroyed. They careened off the cortices of his mind, pounding waves of everything imaginable in a rush of revelation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo,\u201d Troy whispered. The hammer dropped through his shaking hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Ian took a few slow steps, the brittle sticks and burnt needles snapping under his feet. \u201cI knew it would kill you to see me get married. Despite all I ever did to you, I loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cYou&#8230;\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cIt took everything I had to hit you. I loved you, Troy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy stood quickly, feeling surges of nausea. His legs felt light, and he wobbled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cDo you remember now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cI never lost that time, did I?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">\u201cNo. You never it to lose.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full is-resized\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/sep.png\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/sep.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-6122\" width=\"38\" height=\"38\"\/><\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Troy again stood inside the forest for the first time since the fires. Devastated Ponderosa trees, now nothing more than black sticks, stabbed heavenward, pathetic vestiges of what they once were. Nature had unleashed its fury, pummeling the earth with chaotic slivers of searing heat, setting an inferno that cost the life of one person.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Or was that two?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">He had to go forward, to walk further into the forest to find what he knew was there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator has-css-opacity\"\/>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>While this story does not appear in my collection Regarding Dead Things on the Side of the Road, many others like it do. <a href=\"https:\/\/amzn.to\/44dVQJI\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noreferrer noopener\">Check it out<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/short-stories-excerpts-and-other-things\/\">Read more Short Stories, Excerpts and Poems<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">All text copyright 2003, Benjamin X. Wretlind<\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><a href=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"515\" height=\"734\" src=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg\" alt=\"forest\" class=\"wp-image-6120\" srcset=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg 515w, https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5-210x300.jpg 210w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 515px) 100vw, 515px\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n<\/div><div style=\"padding-bottom:20px; padding-top:10px;text-align: center;\" class=\"hupso-share-buttons\"><!-- Hupso Share Buttons - https:\/\/www.hupso.com\/share\/ --><a class=\"hupso_toolbar\" href=\"https:\/\/www.hupso.com\/share\/\"><img decoding=\"async\" src=\"https:\/\/static.hupso.com\/share\/buttons\/dot.png\" style=\"border:0px; padding-top: 5px; float:left;\" alt=\"Share Button\"\/><\/a><script type=\"text\/javascript\">var hupso_services_t=new Array(\"Twitter\",\"Facebook\",\"Google Plus\",\"Pinterest\",\"Linkedin\",\"Tumblr\",\"StumbleUpon\",\"Digg\",\"Reddit\",\"Email\",\"Print\");var hupso_background_t=\"#EAF4FF\";var hupso_border_t=\"#66CCFF\";var hupso_toolbar_size_t=\"big\";var hupso_image_folder_url = \"\";var hupso_twitter_via=\"bxwretlind\";var hupso_url_t=\"\";var hupso_title_t=\"Short%20Story%3A%20Sprouts\";<\/script><script type=\"text\/javascript\" src=\"https:\/\/static.hupso.com\/share\/js\/share_toolbar.js\"><\/script><!-- Hupso Share Buttons --><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I took a trip there a few weeks after the fire had been put out and snapped the picture that inspired this story. I didn&#8217;t actually write it until 2003, but it was that picture which was taped to my monitor the whole time.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6120,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[122],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6118","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-story"],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v27.6.1 (Yoast SEO v27.8) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-premium-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>Short Story: Sprouts - Benjamin X. Wretlind<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn&#039;t write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Short Story: Sprouts\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn&#039;t write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:modified_time\" content=\"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:width\" content=\"515\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:height\" content=\"734\" \/>\n\t<meta property=\"og:image:type\" content=\"image\/jpeg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Est. reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"12 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\\\/\\\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"Article\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#article\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/\"},\"author\":{\"name\":\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516\"},\"headline\":\"Short Story: Sprouts\",\"datePublished\":\"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00\",\"mainEntityOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/\"},\"wordCount\":2567,\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/The-Rim-5.jpg\",\"articleSection\":[\"Short Story\"],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/\",\"name\":\"Short Story: Sprouts - Benjamin X. Wretlind\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/The-Rim-5.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00\",\"description\":\"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn't write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).\",\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/The-Rim-5.jpg\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/09\\\/The-Rim-5.jpg\",\"width\":515,\"height\":734},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/2021\\\/10\\\/17\\\/short-story-sprouts\\\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Short Story: Sprouts\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#website\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/\",\"name\":\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\",\"description\":\"Creator of Things\",\"publisher\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516\"},\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\"},{\"@type\":[\"Person\",\"Organization\"],\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/#\\\/schema\\\/person\\\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516\",\"name\":\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-US\",\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/12\\\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png\",\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/12\\\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/12\\\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png\",\"width\":402,\"height\":409,\"caption\":\"Benjamin X. Wretlind\"},\"logo\":{\"@id\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/wp-content\\\/uploads\\\/2021\\\/12\\\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png\"},\"description\":\"Benjamin ran with scissors when he was five. He now writes. Follow him at https:\\\/\\\/www.facebook.com\\\/bxwretlind.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\\\/\\\/www.bxwretlind.com\\\/\"],\"url\":\"https:\\\/\\\/bxwretlind.com\\\/blog\\\/author\\\/admin\\\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO Premium plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Short Story: Sprouts - Benjamin X. Wretlind","description":"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn't write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/","og_locale":"en_US","og_type":"article","og_title":"Short Story: Sprouts","og_description":"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn't write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).","og_url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/","og_site_name":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","article_published_time":"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00","article_modified_time":"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00","og_image":[{"width":515,"height":734,"url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg","type":"image\/jpeg"}],"author":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","Est. reading time":"12 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"Article","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#article","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/"},"author":{"name":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516"},"headline":"Short Story: Sprouts","datePublished":"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00","dateModified":"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00","mainEntityOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/"},"wordCount":2567,"publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg","articleSection":["Short Story"],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/","url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/","name":"Short Story: Sprouts - Benjamin X. Wretlind","isPartOf":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg","datePublished":"2021-10-17T13:00:00+00:00","dateModified":"2023-07-05T20:41:05+00:00","description":"There is, in fact, a forest in central Arizona which burned down in 1990. I didn't write this story until 2003, but the picture was inspiration (see the sprouts in the middle).","breadcrumb":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-US","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg","contentUrl":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/09\/The-Rim-5.jpg","width":515,"height":734},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/2021\/10\/17\/short-story-sprouts\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Short Story: Sprouts"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#website","url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/","name":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","description":"Creator of Things","publisher":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516"},"potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-US"},{"@type":["Person","Organization"],"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/00b22fcb0d2170803400ba3ea89fb516","name":"Benjamin X. Wretlind","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-US","@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png","url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png","contentUrl":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png","width":402,"height":409,"caption":"Benjamin X. Wretlind"},"logo":{"@id":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/cropped-cropped-bx_logo2_trans-1.png"},"description":"Benjamin ran with scissors when he was five. He now writes. Follow him at https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/bxwretlind.","sameAs":["http:\/\/www.bxwretlind.com\/"],"url":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/author\/admin\/"}]}},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6118","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6118"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6118\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24986,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6118\/revisions\/24986"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6120"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6118"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6118"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/bxwretlind.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6118"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}