Would you plant a packet of random seeds that showed up in your mailbox?
No label. No return address. Just a bold instruction stamped across the front: Plant Immediately.
Some people wouldn’t think twice. Others wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot shovel.
This week, a group of writers decided to take the risk anyway. Strange growths. Unexpected consequences. A few things that probably should’ve stayed buried.
This week’s double drabble prompt: › A packet of unlabeled seeds arrives in the mail on the first day of spring, with "Plant Immediately" stamped on it.
Below are this week’s entries. Which one is your favorite? Follow the authors on Facebook to see more of their work and join the conversation. You never know what they dig up next.
Dig in and see what grew . . .
A big thanks to everyone who participated and kept the challenge alive this week!
by Neviena Dēls
Likes: 5
Words: 200
The packet arrived without a return address, its paper thin and yellowed, the words Plant Immediately stamped in urgent red. Claire turned it over twice before opening it, half expecting a note, a mistake. There was nothing. Only a small cluster of black seeds, smooth and faintly warm in her palm.
It was the first day of spring. That felt like instruction enough.
She planted them in a neglected corner of her garden, pressing them into soil still cool from winter. By dusk, she had nearly forgotten them, distracted by the ordinary rhythm of her evening.
At dawn, something had grown.
Not a sprout. Not a stem. A hand.
It reached from the earth, pale and trembling, fingers curling as if grasping for memory. Claire stumbled back, heart hammering, but the hand did not retreat. More soil shifted. An arm followed. A shoulder, then a chest pulling in its first breath.
By noon, a man stood there, breathing hard, covered in dirt, eyes locked on hers.
“You planted me,” he said, voice raw. “Thank you.”
Claire swallowed. “Who are you?”
He smiled faintly.
“I don’t remember yet.”
Behind him, the soil cracked again, and more hands began to rise.
by Eolas Pellor
Likes: 4
Words: 200
Mother had been angry when she found out I’d traded our cow to that travelling salesman, instead of taking it to market like she’d asked. Now that the payment he’d promised had arrived in the mail, I was reluctant to reopen the argument. I found the plain brown envelope, addressed to me, when I checked the mailbox. Inside a packet with seven seeds in it, marked ‘Plant Immediately’ on one side and ‘Presto’s Magic Beans’ on the other.
I walked up the driveway, toward the house, going around back and entering through the kitchen door. Mother was there, chopping up the last turnip we had to boil for the evening meal. I was thoroughly sick of turnips.
“Was there anything in the mail, Jack?” she asked. “I heard the whistle.”
“Oh, just the usual,” I replied. I should have known I’d never get anything past her.
“What’s that in your hand, then?” she asked. She stepped toward me, and tore the envelope from my hand. “Beans? Magic beans? Honestly Jack, I don’t know what to do with you.” She tossed the seeds out the window in her anger.
Instantly, the plot of a new story took root in my mind.
Likes: 4
Words: 200
I've heard you're not supposed to plant unknown seeds. Something about foreign agents trying to trick people into planting invasive species. Evil. But I mean, there they were, in the mailbox. Waiting. The message was clear: PLANT IMMEDIATELY. Surely the biosecurity claims were unfounded.
I grabbed a super seed starter tray from my stash, dropped in a few seeds, attacked them with my super mister water gun, and positioned my super duper bionic grow lights over my work.
The next morning, I was surprised to find vines snaking through my den, and there were blooms already! By lunch, the blooms were opening. Inside each bloom was a . . . I know you're not going to believe me. A photograph. The first photo was a tall gentleman with an amazing beard dining with a stunning young woman. The next showed them in front of the Eiffel Tower. Another by the Louvre.
My doorbell rang.
"Yes?"
"Hello. I think you received my honeymoon seeds by mistake. Can I have them back? I'm excited to get them developed."
I showed the man the photos.
"Oh. Sorry to bother you. Those aren't mine."
I glanced back at the photo. Funny. I don't remember growing a beard.
Likes: 2
Words: 200
“Who was it?”
Jaryd ripped the envelope open, shaking his head. “No clue. Look.” Sandi caught the packet. She shook it. “Seeds? No name?”
“Nope.”
“You remember those seeds from Grandpa?”
“Yeah. Let’s toss ’em in the garden and see what happens.”
Later, Sandi blinked at two filled packs. “What's this?”
“Adventure time.” Jaryd pulled her outside.
They climbed a six foot wide stem spiraling into the sky, until the stem drilled into a floating island.
“You seeing this?”
Sandi nodded.
A path led to a miniature house.
Knock-knock.
A peephole slid open.
“Who goes there?”
“We’re your neighbors.”
“I have no neighbors.” It slammed shut.
The door flew open. “Big ’uns,” he grunted.
“What’s your name?” Sandi asked in a baby voice.
“Jack. We’re about to have tea. Join me out back?”
“Yes!” Sandi cried.
The door shut.
“I don’t trust him,” Jaryd muttered.
“He’s cute. Like a gnome. What could go wrong?”
Behind the house sat two chairs their size. Sandi plopped down. Jaryd scanned the yard.
“Come on, silly.”
“Fine.”
As he sat, clamps slammed around his arms and a rope bound his chest.
Eyes blazing, he hissed, “I told you.”
“Not now! Get us outta here!”
When Colton Travers was just four months old, a runaway horse on Bent Oak Road cause a car wreck that left his mother dead. His father survived, then vanished. Raised on family stories and faded photographs, he never questioned the past . . . until a worn shoe box of old clippings surfaced with hints of a darker truth. Now, drawn into a fifty-year-old unsolved case, Colton must chase a trail gone cold, where memory holds the clues, time keeps the truth, and justice demands satisfaction.
Stargazing at the June Bug Ranch
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