Dimitri walked the beaten path from his small town in Hostre, to the familiar fields of grain that he’d admired since childhood. The fresh dew sat lackadaisically on a blade of grass; its slumber abruptly disturbed by the compression of Dimitri’s leather bound foot. His impact paled in comparison to the indelible impression bestowed upon the wider area. During the previous season, the land had been disturbed by heavy machinery, the earth turned over and upon itself, revealing the darker soil below.
“Big machines, operated by large men, led by those with gargantuan egos.” He pondered aloud.
His fixation upon his outer surroundings caused a momentary lapse in perception. Dimitri’s foot discovered a deep puddle, which had been considerately filled with fresh rainwater. His right foot and shin now completely submerged and subsequently sodden.
“Blyat, and the forecast said I wasn’t going to get wet.” He murmured in annoyance.
As Dimitri vigorously shook his leg back and forth in a futile attempt to dry his shoe; a dandelion seed drifted whimsically through the cool air. Dimitri raised his hand, waiting for the flocculent ball to float into his palm. His fingers enclosed the prospective plant, providing a shelter in which hopes, dreams, and wishes could perpetuate.
“I wish Natalia can become more resilient, I dream that one day she’ll find something that brings her joy and doesn’t cause turbulence in her life”. After these utterances had been birthed into the ether, Dimitri unfurled his fingers, the dandelion seed had vanished. A furrow fell upon his withered brow.
“Even with my luck, there’s always hope.” He whispered longingly.
Unbeknownst to Dimitri that callow seed, dismissive to the calling of harbouring wishful resolutions, had been carried further afield and had settled upon a wet, cold, and metallic object. The inanimate shell laid in a ditch of its own creation, a crater that was carved through combustion. The only presence of vibrancy on the hollow munition were three tarnished horizontal streaks of paint: white, blue and red. The seed now soddened with moisture had acquired the shared trait of its neighbour, inertness. The inanimate pair lay in their final resting place. The seed and the shell. The shells epitaph was etched upon its exterior and simply read “Krasnopol”.
Across the field, a sudden thought bolstered its way into Dimitri’s mind. A person can wish to alleviate the suffering of those they love, but only through sustained hope and incremental growth can we alleviate the suffering of the world. A perplexed look fell across his face, followed by a reassured nod of agreement.
