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  • Writer's pictureSlate

Part 1 of Stories

Updated: Nov 5, 2021

(written by Slate aka "babybee", age 12)

First off, I write a lot of stories.

Now for something more specific.

I've been writing short nature stories.

And I'd like to share them with you. These stories will be hopefully meaningful, but also cause a little bit of an ache in your heart.

An ache to help.

Each post will have a story. They might get longer soon, but for now they are short. I will try to post the next one every other Friday.

So welcome to the first story, and stay tuned for the next one.

This story doesn't really have a name. But we can call it Grass for now.



Look around you.

What do you see?

This is a world of nature.

A world of interest and magic.

A world to explore.

And it is dying.

Feet pounding.

Heart beating.

Breath coming in and out in quick, shallow breaths.

She ran.

But this isn't her story.

This is the story of the grass.

The grass that had many types.

The grass that either bent down to the feet

or was too arrogant and stayed tall

only to break.

The grass had been through many things.

It had been used as a bed.

It had been used as a bathroom.

It had been used as food.

But the most important thing to the grass

was the trees.

The trees watched over the grass.

The trees were like mothers to the grass.

The trees gave them their own nutrients when the grass was dying.

And the grass would do the same.

But there was also one who looked over the grass and the trees.

But also the flowers and bushes.

All the plants and animals belonged to her.

But she did not hold it over their head.

She fed them from her own life essence.

She tried to look after the humans as well.

But the humans, unlike the animals and plants, were not grateful.

They did not notice her actions.

They simply used her as a trashcan.

They pushed her away like they would push away a branch in their path.


Inflicting pain.

Even though she hurt, she did not give in to the pain.

She tried to protect the people.

But by now, she had had enough.

She was hurt.



Everything she did to help humans resulted in more pain.

She was sick.

She couldn't control anything anymore.

She had to save her life essence for herself.

So the trees were cut.

The grass transformed.

Without The Mother, the trees no longer lived, and the grass was unhappy.

The trees were like family.

The grass was mad.

They couldn't control it.

They grew brittle and tall.

They spread like wildfire.

And when there was a wildfire, they spread it.

Everything burned.

All because of the people.

The Mother tried to fight the sickness, but she was too weak.

The humans had inflicted too much pain.

All the heat from all the fires spread to her insides.

The cool, controlled parts of her began to melt away.

And as they did, islands were swallowed up by her tears.

As the cool parts of her vanished, she gave in to anger

She screamed, making harsh winds and funnels of air.

They destroyed everything in sight.

The Mother cried and screamed.

She didn't know how much longer she could hold on.

The grass felt her anger.

It burned and burned, angry with what the humans had done.

The Mother was finally out of tears.

She calmed down for a while.

But then she realized.

She realized that humans treated her like they treated dirt.

She would never treat dirt that way, it was a lifeforce, but still.

So the sadness melted.

And was replaced with hot anger.

The Mother cried a lot.

But usually in joy.

Her tears were what replenished everything.

But fueled with anger, these tears did not fall.

Everything dried up.

It was hot and gloomy.

But there was still fire.

Red hot fire racing through the land.

The grass shrieked in agony as it gave its life to try and get humans

to care about The Mother.

But the humans came with big fancy vehicles.

They would rather work in dangerous places for days than give The Mother

the care she deserved.

So the grass died for nothing.

The Mother would have been able to bring their spirits into new grasses

but she was growing weaker by the day.

If she used any of her magic to help

she would surely die.

The humans carried on with their business

oblivious to what they were causing.

The Mother tried.

But she couldn't do anything anymore.

All she could do was watch her precious plants and animals die.

She had seen too much death.

She didn't want to cry.

The humans would think it meant everything was getting better.

She couldn't cry.

It was too much of a risk.

But she had to cry.



She couldn't hold herself back as she cried harder than she had ever cried.

She yelled every once in a while, sending down huge booms.

She shot down bolts of lightning.

She made power go out everywhere.

Her yells rumbled through the sky.

And the humans just got flashlights and ignored the rage outside their doors.

But the grass didn't.

The grass had been given a little bit of magic at birth, so they enchanted


The grass sprung up from the ground.

They hid outside windows and scraped against the walls, but the humans

just went back to sleep.

Except one.

One child sat in her bed, listening to the thunder and rain outside.

The scraping sounded familiar in a way.

She thought of grass.

There had been less grass recently.

She used to run through it, breathing quickly as her feet thumped the ground.

Sometimes the grass had scraped against the trees.

It had never been this loud, but it had been like this.

She looked out the window.

The enchanted grass stared up at her.

She nodded.

She knew what was happening.

She knew her world was dying.

She jumped out of bed.

She ran outside and kneeled on the ground.

She looked at the sky where The Mother lay sick in her bed.

She promised to do everything she could to help.

But the true question.

Will you help too?

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