Billie the Blade of Grass
Billie was not your ordinary blade of grass. Fearless and bold, he was capable of growing anywhere. His parents had molded him that way. Every night, when they put him to sleep, they would remind him that he had it within him to reach for the stars. So, when Billie found himself underneath the rubble of a demolished building, his odds were not looking good. He had more than two feet of crumbled concrete and broken glass above him. Very little nutrient soil. Yet, he could see a ray of sunlight at the top, and he aimed for that. Every day, he pointed at that ray of sunlight and aimed for it.
Despite the darkness, the suffocating weight of the rubble, and the sparse nutrients, Billie stretched upward with all his might. He knew it wasn't just about surviving—he wanted to thrive. He was Billie the Blade of Grass, after all. His roots wove through the concrete, searching for the smallest bits of soil, the tiniest drops of moisture. He could feel the earth's vibrations around him, could sense the movement of ants as they tunneled through the debris and the tiny tremors as raindrops found their way into the cracks above.
Billie's parents had always said, "Grow where you are planted, no matter how hard the ground." He whispered those words to himself as he pushed his blade upward a millimeter at a time. He wasn't alone down here—there were worms wriggling through the dust, and a small beetle named Margo who had found refuge under a piece of shattered brick.
"You'll never make it," Margo said, clicking her mandibles anxiously. "This place is a graveyard. It's better to stay hidden and safe."
Billie, with a quiet but fierce determination, responded, "Maybe for you, Margo. But I can see the sunlight, and I'm going to reach it."
Day by day, Billie pushed upward. He didn't have the luxury of a field of rich soil or the safety of a well-tended lawn. But he had something else: the will to grow, no matter what. His body ached with every effort, and there were times when he felt the concrete pressing so hard he thought he might snap in half. But then, he'd take a deep breath—through the tiny pores on his blade, he inhaled hope from the air.
One day, when he was nearly at the surface, Billie heard a rumble. At first, he thought it was another building collapsing. But this was different. It was softer, rhythmic. Then he realized—it was the sound of footsteps. People were walking above him, and he could hear their voices.
"Look at this place," said a deep voice. "It's nothing but rubble. They'll probably just pave it over."
"They should," replied another voice. "It's easier to lay asphalt than try to salvage anything here."
Billie's heart sank for a moment, but then he steeled himself. He wasn't aiming to be ordinary; he was aiming to be extraordinary. The world needed blades of grass like him, he thought. Grass that could grow through concrete, that could prove life could emerge from ruin.
And so, Billie pushed harder than ever before. He didn't just want to make it—he wanted to make a statement. To be the green dot in a sea of gray rubble.
One morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, Billie felt the cool touch of fresh air on his tip. He had done it. He broke through the surface, emerging into the light. The sun bathed him in warmth, and for a moment, he stood still, savoring the victory.
"Look!" cried a small child passing by with her mother. "A piece of grass! It's growing through the broken building!"
The mother bent down, surprised. "Well, would you look at that? It's a little miracle."
Billie smiled inside, standing tall and proud, his blade glistening in the sunlight. He wasn't just a blade of grass anymore. He was a symbol. He was the proof that life could thrive even in the harshest conditions.
And as the child reached down, her tiny fingers brushing against his green blade, Billie knew he had reached for the stars—and, in his own way, he had touched them.
This was just the beginning.
Billie's parents had always said, "Grow where you are planted, no matter how hard the ground." He whispered those words to himself as he pushed his blade upward a millimeter at a time. He wasn't alone down here—there were worms wriggling through the dust, and a small beetle named Margo who had found refuge under a piece of shattered brick.
"You'll never make it," Margo said, clicking her mandibles anxiously. "This place is a graveyard. It's better to stay hidden and safe."
Billie, with a quiet but fierce determination, responded, "Maybe for you, Margo. But I can see the sunlight, and I'm going to reach it."
Day by day, Billie pushed upward. He didn't have the luxury of a field of rich soil or the safety of a well-tended lawn. But he had something else: the will to grow, no matter what. His body ached with every effort, and there were times when he felt the concrete pressing so hard he thought he might snap in half. But then, he'd take a deep breath—through the tiny pores on his blade, he inhaled hope from the air.
One day, when he was nearly at the surface, Billie heard a rumble. At first, he thought it was another building collapsing. But this was different. It was softer, rhythmic. Then he realized—it was the sound of footsteps. People were walking above him, and he could hear their voices.
"Look at this place," said a deep voice. "It's nothing but rubble. They'll probably just pave it over."
"They should," replied another voice. "It's easier to lay asphalt than try to salvage anything here."
Billie's heart sank for a moment, but then he steeled himself. He wasn't aiming to be ordinary; he was aiming to be extraordinary. The world needed blades of grass like him, he thought. Grass that could grow through concrete, that could prove life could emerge from ruin.
And so, Billie pushed harder than ever before. He didn't just want to make it—he wanted to make a statement. To be the green dot in a sea of gray rubble.
One morning, just as the sun peeked over the horizon, Billie felt the cool touch of fresh air on his tip. He had done it. He broke through the surface, emerging into the light. The sun bathed him in warmth, and for a moment, he stood still, savoring the victory.
"Look!" cried a small child passing by with her mother. "A piece of grass! It's growing through the broken building!"
The mother bent down, surprised. "Well, would you look at that? It's a little miracle."
Billie smiled inside, standing tall and proud, his blade glistening in the sunlight. He wasn't just a blade of grass anymore. He was a symbol. He was the proof that life could thrive even in the harshest conditions.
And as the child reached down, her tiny fingers brushing against his green blade, Billie knew he had reached for the stars—and, in his own way, he had touched them.
This was just the beginning.
(This story is donated to the public domain.)
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He/Him/His
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"Wisdom begins with wonder." - Socrates
"Learning happens thru gentleness."
"We must reinvent a future free of blinders so that we can choose from real options." David Suzuki
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