A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 15: The Dead Grass

We cross over the autumnal grass first. Stunning colours surround us. There are browns, reds and a mix of those two shades everywhere. I am staring in amazement when I begin to pick an almost familiar melody in the air.

brown and reds, we know we're not green

no queen, not a queen, we have no queen

careful, onlookers! our roots are not strong

thus forth, we try to stay away from wrong

birds and dew, make us feel new

but pollen is few, oh mon dieu

words we catch from humans around

(when they play games like soccer and hopscotch)

we make dull, every crevice and crack

(but no weeds here, thanks to Agatia)

we drift along the winds of yonder

we hum we speak and up above they still wonder

we're barely alive, but you're surely alive!

let's try and thrive!

now and forever

today and in every weather

Pollen explains that the grasses sing a variation of that one song, depending on their season. 

Then, Pollen drops its voice ominously as it warns me, "But be careful of the Sun and the Wind, Jemma."

"Sure, if by that you mean, I should wear sunscreen...and not leave my house without a coat in the winter." I say, confused.

Pollen moves left and right, shaking itself as if disagreeing. 

"In Grassland, the Sun can burn down the grass with its intensity. The Wind and the Sun are in cahoots to destroy all of Grassland." It whispers bitterly.

"But umm, isn't the Sun good for the grass?" I ask.

"It is, but the Sun can be moody, you see. And when it's not feeling like it, Wind manipulates it to do the worst."

I try to imagine what having such villains to the grass must mean. But I fail. All of this still sounds very strange.

"I don't think anything or anyone can harm me as long as I am in this wonderfully cheery pocket," Sachelle interrupts but his sarcasm does not lighten Pollen's tone.

"They're not good news, Jemma. They better not find out you're in our presence. They don't like strangers in Grassland. Agatia once told us a story about an unfortunate rabbit from far far away who wandered into Grassland. The Sun and Wind immediately drove it into the desert and it starved to death."

It saddens me to hear this poor rabbits's demise. 

"Oh look, we've reached the Arctic. We're so close to the temperate grass. Soon, we'll be in the land of Agatia!" 

Pollen bounces as it always does at such celebratory occasions. The gaps between the grass here are filled with snow. I tune out some of the random noise around us and I'm not disappointed, as the arctic grass begin to sing their own wispy notes. 

dead, in hibernation, we know we're not green

no queen, not a queen, we have no queen

careful, onlookers! our roots are not strong

thus forth, we try to stay away from wrong

birds and dew, make us feel new

but pollen is few, oh mon dieu

on snow, humans walk, on us they plod

(when they cross patches, we're beneath invisible)

we stand still, but oftentimes we nod

(regardless still no weeds here, thanks to Agatia)

we await to sway along the winds of yonder

we whisper we nod and up above they wonder

we're half dead but you're fully alive!

let's together do our best to thrive!

now and forever

today and in every weather

At this point, I'm able to detect similar words in the various versions of the song and that thrills me for some reason.

It's relatively quiet in this patch but it's the pleasant kind of quiet. There's some singing and the activity adds a cheery feel to the bleak atmosphere. Pollen grows quiet for a while to match the ambiance.

"Jemma, I forgot to mention the dead grass." Pollen finally says, with no trace of its usual bounce. 

"The dead grass?" I echo.

"I'm sorry, it's not the nicest part of Grassland. Most times, I forget it exists. You see, very rarely does anyone visit Agatia. There is enough grass in the temperate, it keeps Agatia occupied, dealing with their affairs. Very few like me visit her, and very rarely."

I lean on Pollen sideways, trying to sympathize and understand. I don't see how missing out a detail about Grassland could be problematic but I try to be polite.

"It's okay, Pollen. Let's focus on getting to Agatia."

That's when we cross into the land of dead grass. And it hits me instantly, the silence here is immense. 

It is almost deafening after a few seconds of traversing through this patch. I'm afraid to speak in fear of awakening the dead here.

"Dear Jemma, I am about to suffocate in your pocket," Sachelle breaks the quiet.

"Sachelle, you don't need to breathe," I rasp back.

And then the sand, the desert-like soil around us begins to rise upwards. It surrounds us completely, it goes everywhere, over and below us. I sense a terrible sandstorm. This cannot be good for our journey.

We move with difficulty. With one hand, I hold onto Pollen with all my strength. With the other, I hold down Sachelle, in case he falls out of my pocket.

Meanwhile, Sparrow is brave. And seems experienced. He doesn't talk a lot but has an acute presence. 

For a moment, I become aware of the sapphire gem, hanging safely around my neck. And right then, Sparrow instructs us to hold tight.