Anthology for a Green Planet

By Filidh Publishing Authors

A collection of short stories featuring various forms of green technology as an integral part of the plot. Proceeds of sales of this book go to a green business or charity as determined by the authors. A project of the Eclectic Writers' Boot Camp. Experience a sampling of these dynamic Filidh Publishing authors: Astra Crompton, Gordon Henderson, Jessie Blair, Josh MacLeod, Monique Jacob, Vince Galati, Werner Roberts and Zoe Duff. Edited by Zoe Duff

• Language: English
• Publisher: Filidh Publishing
• Release date: Mar 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781927848074

Book preview

Anthology for a Green Planet

Anthology for a Green Planet

A project of Eclectic Writers’ Boot Camp Authors

Filidh Publishing Authors

Copyright

Copyright 2013 Zoe Duff

All rights reserved.

Filidh Publishing, Victoria, BC

Ebook Edition ISBN 978-1-927848-07-4

Edited by Zoe Duff

Cover Design by Zoe Duff

Proceeds of sale of this book are donated to a green business and/or charity as chosen by the authors and may change from time to time.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who dream of having their words published and those who work for the sustainability of our planet’s resources.

Astra Crompton

Astra Crompton is an artist, author and creator based in Victoria, Canada. Using multiple mediums to bring her visions and worlds to life, she has been creating for over twenty years. She brings a diverse approach to creative consulting, holistically coaching others' projects to create a richer, more polished end product.

Learn more at www.astracrompton.com

Dumpster Gardens grew out of her love of local, urban farming initiatives and the soul-growing moments when people come together. Her ideal future is one in which communities rekindle a love of ecosystems and once again value diligence and the gains found in working together - physically, but also emotionally and spiritually. Together we can make the world a better place; it starts with a seedling...

The Shore came from a dream, and as its message grew from the dream-world into reality, so too she hopes it will inspire others to look with renewed appreciation on the natural world. Let our sights be filled with awe, wonder and appreciation for the boundless beauty that enabled us to create our modern civilisations. Let us never forget our gratitude for the planet that continues to give us life.

Dumpster Gardens

by Astra Crompton

Jared made his way home from school by the usual route, trekking through abandoned construction sites and gritty streets where the garbage clogged the drain grates. The barred windows of the shops passed by in a familiar monotony, not so very different from the expressionless faces of the regulars who hurried down the streets, all so careful not to meet glances. Jared too kept his face turned down, scuffing his shoes through the cigarette butts and crumpled candy wrappers, the eddies of dust and grease ground into the pocked concrete were like wholly ignored urban artwork. He watched his frayed shoelaces slap the pavement, mind emptying from the day’s lessons and embarrassments until a second pair of sneakers came into his field of vision.

Jared knew at a glance who those shoes belonged to. He froze in mid-stride and timidly followed the sneakers up over the thick ankles, red knees, stained t-shirt with its flabby gut, and landed finally on the sullen face of Garth Daggart. Every kid in school knew Daggart (as he was known, for he punched anyone who called him Garth). It wasn’t just that he was a bully; he was the worst kind of bully. He went out of his way to embarrass, strong-arm and torment every kid in his grade he could look down on. The problem was that Daggart was some kind troll – massive, red-faced and ill-tempered – which meant pretty much any kid in a three grade radius was smaller than him.

Recently, he had also begun the rude habit of following kids like Jared off the school-grounds to have a little extracurricular fun. It’s not like the teachers really did much to dissuade Daggart from his games at the best of times, and out in the public, especially in this part of town, no one would lift a finger to help a kid from getting his teeth kicked in. Jared’s ribs were still sore from a few days ago, and he was in no mood to take another thrashing. There was no way he could fight back, let alone win. He gulped down the dread as Daggart began talking.

Heya Pipsqueak! You didn’t pay the toll for leaving school today. Doncha know that if you don’t pay to leave, you gotta stay in a locker overnight? Daggart snickered to himself, for he seemed to find his threats extremely clever. Jared mumbled something about there being no such rule, and instantly the bully’s mouth twisted cruelly. You calling me a liar, Squirt? This was the way it always went. There were no right answers Jared could give. If he agreed, the bully would call him a coward and beat him for it; if he talked back, the bully would pick a fight just for the principle. Afterwards, Jared couldn’t put his finger on what made him crazy enough to try it, but he forever thanked his few lucky stars for the impetus.

He simply bolted. Dashed right under the surprised arc of Daggart’s swinging left-hook and went careening down the sidewalk to get away. Jared wasn’t an athlete by any means, but he was smaller, more agile and far more desperate than his assailant. Sometimes, that can be enough, and the distance between ‘a boot to the junk’ and ‘a cramp in one’s flank’ was worlds apart on the desirability meter. Jared didn’t have a plan or a goal. There wasn’t anywhere specific he was headed, he just had the thundering footfalls of the troll behind him to spur him onward. Like a hare on a greyhound track, he darted around urban obstacles – display trolleys, magazine racks, grocer’s carts, fast food kiosks, pedestrians with dogs on leash, ladies with strollers, and housewives with bundles of groceries. Some of them went toppling over as he bounced off of them like a pinball game, leaving the angry hollers of clerks or civilians echoing riotously behind him.

By the time he stopped, he’d lost track of where he’d turned, and from the sound of it, lost Daggart as well. He collapsed behind a dumpster in a dim alley to try to catch his breath. His face was slick with sweat and his chest ached horribly, heart pounding wildly inside his ribcage, lungs burning from the exertion. For a moment, he just slumped there, his head resting on the brick wall and knees lolling as his legs transmuted to some jelly-like substance. As he waited for his vision to stop lurching, he kept expecting to hear the bully’s pounding steps rise up out of the angry, caustic city soundscape, but they didn’t.

As his body cooled down, Jared began to look around, trying to figure out where he was. The tenement buildings on either side of him were dingy and rundown. The rough bustle of the street was visible in the bright light at the end of the alley, though the shadows here were cool and quiet. The rusty, badly-dented dumpster beside him was standard issue green, its lid permanently twisted from some vandal or garbage truck mishap. Graffiti was sprayed down the brick walls and the dumpster’s flank alike, the usual collection of tags, obscenities and cynical messages. Trash seemed to have collected here, as if the wind had managed to skirt old newspapers and candy wrappers and empty to-go cups down into this nook and then couldn’t manage to get them back out again. Despite the stink of the dumpster and the rusted fire escapes above and the pulverized concrete and dirt floor, there was something almost nice about this forgotten corner. Like it was hiding from the angry city, just as Jared was hiding from Daggart.

His breath all caught up, Jared picked himself up. As he straightened his jacket and tightened up the loosened zipper on his backpack, he noticed something strange behind the dumpster. It was just incongruous enough that he had to stop and take a closer look. He lifted up the empty foil chip bag and tossed it aside and found a little plant growing in the shadows of the alley. There was a patch of earth where the concrete had long since crumbled, and despite the cigarette butts and wads of chewed gum, this little sprout had dared to lift its green face. It was so fragile and tiny and yet vibrant and brave; it was beautiful.

Hey, little guy... I don’t think here’s a very good spot to make a home. Jared whispered to it. The seedling seemed to wave its curly tendrils, as if to say: can you recommend someplace better? I guess you don’t have much choice, huh? Jared asked, looking out at the honking traffic not twenty feet away. He knelt back down and picked up a blown-out pen and a dozen cigarette butts and the chip bag he’d just tossed back down, and stuffed them into the open dumpster. It’s still not very nice here, but at least now you’ll have a bit more room to grow... But he didn’t sound very confident. The fact was he didn’t really know anything about plants, or what kind this one was or what it needed to thrive. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a quick picture for reference. Then he turned and made to leave, pausing to look back over his shoulder. From the alley’s entrance, he couldn’t see the plant, just the dumpster and the dirty swath of windswept junk at the end. I’ll come back and help you, okay? he offered. It seemed fair, really. The plant had given him somewhere to hide, and he felt like maybe it might need his help in return. He just didn’t know the first thing about growing anything.

After he got home, in between troubling math equations, he kept finding himself drawn to the computer. He began clicking through pages and pages of plant photos, trying to find the right species. Characteristic by characteristic he began to narrow it down, comparing different stages and life cycles of each type, trying to identify his little friend. After several hours and haphazard learning about perennials and planting seasons and sunlight exposure, Jared finally narrowed down his search to some type of