The Last Seed

The wasteland was endless. As far as the eye could see, it was a sea of cracked earth and scorching winds. No trees, no grass, no sign of life for miles. The air itself felt lifeless. Yet, in the midst of this barren land, there walked a man named Arlen, a lone figure against the horizon. He wandered the empty plains with a limp in his step but a purpose in his heart.

Arlen had once lived in a world full of color and joy. There had been forests where the wind whispered through the leaves and rivers that shimmered under the sun. But that world had withered away long ago, consumed by war, greed, and nature’s revolt. Now, all that remained was the wasteland, and Arlen was one of the few who stayed.

He carried with him a worn leather pouch, a small but precious treasure inside—seeds. They were the last he had saved from his former life, a symbol of what the world had been and what it could be again. Every few miles, he would pause, kneel, and press a seed deep into the parched soil. Though the ground cracked and crumbled beneath him, he never lost hope.

Passersby—rare as they were—would shake their heads at Arlen. “It’s pointless,” they’d say. “Nothing will ever grow here again.” But Arlen only smiled, his hands steady in their task. “The earth just needs time,” he would respond, and then he would continue his journey, sowing seeds that seemed doomed to fail.

Seasons came and went, and though Arlen grew weaker with each passing year, his resolve never faltered. His body began to fail him, his legs aching from endless wandering, his hands shaking with age. Still, he kept planting, believing that somewhere deep within the earth, the seeds he had sown were waiting for their moment.

One evening, as the sun hung low in the sky, Arlen felt his legs give out beneath him. He fell to the ground, his energy spent, his vision blurring. The wasteland stretched before him, an unbroken expanse of desolation. For the first time, doubt crept into his heart. Had it all been for nothing? Was the land truly beyond saving?

As darkness settled over him, Arlen felt a soft breeze sweep across his face, different from the dry, punishing winds he had grown used to. It was gentle, cool, carrying with it a whisper of something long forgotten. Life.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Arlen opened his eyes. Before him, piercing through the cracked soil, was a single sprout, green and fragile but alive. He blinked, hardly daring to believe it. As he watched, more sprouts began to emerge, one after the other, filling the wasteland with tiny, vibrant shoots of life.

Tears filled Arlen’s eyes as he realized the seeds he had planted, the hope he had carried all these years, had finally taken root. The land, once dead and barren, was beginning to heal. It wasn’t much yet, just a beginning, but it was enough. His efforts hadn’t been in vain.

Arlen smiled as he lay back, his body weary but his heart full. The wasteland would not remain lifeless. It had been waiting, just as he had, for the right moment to awaken. He had planted not just seeds in the ground, but hope in the future. The world might never be as it once was, but it wasn’t lost.

As he closed his eyes for the final time, Arlen whispered to the sprouting earth, “It was always worth it.”

And with that, the man who had walked the wasteland for so long, sowing life where there was none, drifted into peaceful rest, knowing that the seeds of a new tomorrow had begun to grow.