Week 5 Writing Homework
Write a narrative that continues on from the following sentence: “It was a miracle happening right before my eyes.”
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- Due Date : March 15, 2025
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2 thoughts on “Week 5 Writing Homework”
It was a miracle happening right before my eyes. The barren patch of earth I had tended for years without reward was now bursting forth with life. Tiny green shoots pierced the soil, unfurling delicate leaves in the golden light of dawn. But this was no ordinary growth—it was rapid, otherworldly. Within moments, the sprouts grew into towering trees, their boughs heavy with fruit so vibrant they seemed to glow from within.
I stumbled backward, half in awe, half in fear. The watering can clattered from my hands, forgotten. My mind raced back to the strange woman who had appeared at the edge of the field just the day before, draped in a cloak of woven ivy. Her words echoed now: “Plant this seed, and your patience will reap wonders. But remember, miracles demand their price.”
At the time, I had laughed. A seed? That was all she had given me after all my pleas for help? My hands had trembled with frustration as I buried it in the soil, my hopes dimmed to an ember. Yet now, staring at the orchard that had sprung from the barren ground, I couldn’t deny it—she had kept her promise.
Cautiously, I approached one of the trees. The fruit hanging from its branches was unlike anything I had ever seen—golden with a texture that shimmered like silk. The air around it was fragrant and sweet, like a thousand blooming flowers. I reached up and plucked one. The moment it left the branch, the entire tree seemed to shudder as though alive.
As I held the fruit, an uneasy feeling prickled at the edge of my joy. The woman’s words came back again: “Miracles demand their price.” But what could it mean? Surely, this abundance was a blessing. I thought of the struggles that had brought me here—the years of drought, the long nights of prayer, the desperation that had driven me to accept the gift of a stranger. This was what I had dreamed of, wasn’t it?
Hesitating no longer, I bit into the fruit. It was unlike anything I’d ever tasted—perfectly sweet, yet impossibly rich. I felt a warmth flood through me, a sensation of pure vitality. I laughed aloud. The miracle was real.
But as the warmth spread, so did an unfamiliar heaviness. My vision blurred, and a sharp pain twisted through my chest. I dropped the fruit, clutching my heart. Around me, the vibrant orchard began to change. The golden leaves curled and blackened, the fruit rotted where it hung, and the fertile soil cracked and dried. In a matter of moments, the paradise I had been gifted turned into a barren wasteland—far worse than it had ever been before.
I fell to my knees, gasping for breath, as the memory of the woman’s smile returned to me. She hadn’t warned me to protect me; she had warned me to see if I understood the cost of my own greed.
It was a miracle happening right before my eyes. The sun exploded in a fireball of molten gold, pouring down across the heavens like liquid flame, engulfing the earth in its heat. The world just froze, its breath held. The air was softly ruffled by a light breeze that was filled with some fragrance I couldn’t recognize, new, untamed, alive. And then, as if by magic, the earth trembled. Electric and shining flowers forced their way up through the cold barren ground, blooming in hot reds, purples, and blues. The petals uncurled like soft hands, reaching for the sun, stretching towards the warmth. I stood there, my heart thudding in time with the pulse of the earth beneath my feet, wondering if I had stumbled into some forgotten dream.
But with amazement bursting in my chest, a surge of scepticism crept up, winding itself around the astonishment. Was this really happening? The flowers seemed too lovely to be true, as if plucked out of a fairy tale, and the air hummed with an inexplicable tensity. The ghosts who came from the trees only increased my bewilderment. They were unutterably calm, radiating, well-nigh shapeless, as if they were made of light and not flesh. Their wise, old eyes flickered towards me, and something shifted far inside of me, a feeling of home, but of being completely out of place. Why am I here? I asked myself, my shaking hands. My legs were rooted, but my head reeled, divided between the raw beauty and the inane question as to why I should be the one to witness this wonder.
Then the silver-haired woman, the one whose coming seemed to calm the very air, turned to me. Her eyes, pools of moonlight, met mine. A smile, as soft as a breeze, rested on her lips. “You were always meant to be here,” she whispered, and she spoke in a melody born of the wind. And all was transformed. The fear that had gripped my heart melted away, replaced by a profound peace. The flowers ceased to seem alien but belonged to a world that welcomed me. The people moved easily passed me, their footsteps smooth like water. The earth, once distant and cold, now pulsed with life.
Time passed slowly. I breathed in deeply, the air warm and heavy, filling my lungs with something more than oxygen, something that was eternal. As the miracle unfolded around me, I knew that it was not just the world that had changed, it was I. The miracle did not merely awaken the earth, it awakened something in me, something old and primal, connecting me to the beat of life itself. And in that moment, I knew that I was more than I was, more than myself, something eternal.