Remember this morning/yesterday (for some readers) when I set those grandiose goals to finish off my first book? Here's what I've been doing instead. The first snippets of my dystopian novel titled SEEDER'S POISON. Can I have my procrastination award now please?
When I was much younger and being especially rebellious, my mother used to lecture me and say that there is goodness in everyone. Even the Seeders. I remember how she would pull me aside and clasp her earth worn hands to my mouth when the Seeders passed us in the streets, fearful of what I might say. My mother’s ivory skin and raven locks were a stark contrast to the fairness of the farming population, and I would catch the Seeders watching her, their greedy eyes narrowed and always resting upon the three leafed tattoo on her left cheek. Often the Seeders would harass us in town, despite my father’s merchant status and once, when she didn’t know I was watching from the oak tree above, my mother emerged shaken, the sleeve of her favourite dress in tatters, from the opulent house of the head Seeder.
Still she would sigh and press my grubby face to her skirts, reminding me that we were all of the earth and malice harboured would only fester and destroy what little peace our world managed to eke out after the wars. I still wonder if they would have spared her if they knew she was their steadfast advocate. Somehow I doubted it. I was just ten when they killed her. When her Wanderer brethren dared to rise up against the Seeders in their Citadel so far from our home in Region 4. I still wake shaken from my memories of the night they came to take her away. The night her screams shattered any softness her lessons planted in me. The night a small group of farmers broke their code of non interference to spare me a similar death to hers.