A short story. Fantasy, I guess. It finished up at about 1300 words. A stretch for me... feminine POV.After BentTree gave this a read (thank you, very much) I lopped off the first two paragraphs of prose and gave this a new start.
Second Try:
I had never thought of myself as a Watcher. The village shaman laid his hand upon my shoulder at the light of the full moon, that night of the beginning of Spring. The village looked on as the shaman chanted while he placed the seed in the soil.
I was so excited. Pride filled my heart. I looked at Rennie, my twin sister, and smiled. She returned my smile with a smirk. I think she was jealous of the great gift of the Shaman’s touch.
The next day I sat, for the first of many times, cross-legged in the dirt on the Watcher's spot.
First Try:
I sat there, watching, waiting, hoping for something. I sat there with visions of when the growth would be up to my shoulders. I sat there trying not to be too excited for what the near future held.
The wise women say a watched pot never boils. Well, you can say that a hundred times over waiting for a seed to find its nourishment; to open itself to the harsh world outside. I thought of it as my seed. When it grew it would be my plant… part of me, because I am its Watcher.
I never thought of myself as a Watcher... an honor I had never thought to bear. The village shaman laid his hand on my shoulder at the light of the full moon… the beginning of Spring. It’s been weeks, now.
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I'd be happy to send it along to any willing to give it a look.
[This message has been edited by Owasm (edited March 24, 2009).]