Chris Mastree's Arc

Chapter 6 of 10

Chris woke to smoke. The greenhouse air burned in their chest. They stumbled toward the generator, but flames had already climbed the wall. The fire spread fast, eating through dry wood and old paper. Chris grabbed the seedling pot and ran outside. Behind them, glass shattered in the heat. The wreath on the door caught fire, its green needles turning black. Chris watched from the snow as everything burned. The books, the warmth, the proof. All gone. They looked down at the seedling in their branches. Three of its needles had snapped off in the rush. The tiny plant drooped sideways in the cracked pot. Chris walked to the park and sat on a frosted driftwood bench. The wood twisted into strange shapes, worn smooth by time. The frost made it look clean, but Chris knew better. Beautiful things broke too. They set the cracked pot beside them. The seedling's remaining needles were turning brown at the tips. Chris touched their own trunk where new green growth had started yesterday. Those needles had already begun to curl and darken. Without the greenhouse warmth, the change was reversing. Their branches felt brittle again, dry as kindling. The fire had taken everything they built. The donation box was ash. The sign was gone. The wreath that proved growth was possible had burned to nothing. Chris looked at the dying seedling and felt their own hope die with it.