So, thanking those peeps who commented on my Friday Fictioneers piece, and cast a vote (lol, I am Big Brother) for a story. Results are:
Winner: Number Five: 7 Votes
Runner Up: Number Four: 3 Votes
Also rans: Numbers one, three and seven.
Number Five therefore gets to be extended into a larger story. Here goes:
He buries batteries expecting them to grow. Brian imagines the small trees with the flashing leaves, silver and green with strands of red running through. He would dig a small hole with a fork, its silver tongs encrusted with soil. He kept it in a flower pot near the patio. Once he’d made a shallow grove, he’d push the battery plus end in, pat the small heavy metal into the soil. His dad would spend frustrated moments wondering where they all went; little did he know soon he’d have an energy tree, boughs creaking with the solid fruit. Brian believed in the tree, didn’t the story books promise that beanstalks could reach the sky? And they didn’t have technology then, now he was going to power a beanstalk into the sky as high as Santa Claus flew each year.
His mum watched him watering the same spot each day, his wellingtons in the soggy soil. She wasn’t sure what he thought was going to grow there, the grass was ragged from the pressure of the climbing frame. They’d moved it for the winter to give the soil some breathing space. One day, after she’d seen him lovingly stroke the ground, she dug it up when he was at school. She found a ball of batteries and mud. When she put it back, she put a daffodil bulb back with it, deeper in the soil than the batteries. As it pushed its way to sun, they would nestle among the roots. Brian would have a battery flower, yellow as lamp light.