A Country Just Short of Regret...

This is the first of a series of writings which will be inspired by prompts from a book which challenges aspiring writers to write something every day of the month of January based on random prompts presented in the book. I don't know what's coming any more than you do... Enjoy!

I knew a girl once, who lived in a country just short of regret, in the state of bittersweet oranges, in a city of lonely blue skies. Sometimes, she wished that there were clouds in the lonely blue skies because then they would not be so utterly lonely anymore. Sometimes, she wished that the orange groves would all get dug up, and the ground fertilized, and the trees watered because then the oranges would not be so bittersweet anymore. Sometimes, she wished that she had the courage to leave behind her little country for a time because, even if she landed in regret, at least she would have gone somewhere.

But her perfectly lonely blue skies were never marred by a cloud. The orange groves all around her were always peacefully left alone in their bittersweetness. And she never left her country, so she never ended up in regret.

I knew a girl once, who lived in a country just short of regret, in the state of bittersweet oranges, in a city of lonely blue skies. She decided that she was going to see the world, so she left behind her country. Of course, she landed in the next nearest destination: regret. There, the sky was not blue. Across its face rolled dark, thick clouds that growled in anger. And there were no oranges, not even bittersweet ones. There was only cold dirt, and it clung to her clothes as the wind whipped it around her. She decided that she could not return to her home so dirty, so she didn't. She stayed in regret forever.

I knew a girl once, who lived in a country just short of regret, in the state of bittersweet oranges, in a city of lonely blue skies. She, too, left behind her country and landed in regret. But when she got there, and felt the wind whipping the dirt around her and gazed up at the clouds growling above her, she did not decide to sit there in the dirt. Nor did she decide to go back to where she had come from. It could never be the same anyway. Instead, she reached into her pocket and brought out a small orange seed. Crouching to the ground, she began digging with her hands. The dirt was hard and full of rocks in some places. As she dug, her hands became scratched and filthy, but she kept digging. When she was finally satisfied that the hole was deep enough. She planted her bittersweet orange seed in the hole – the one thing she had brought with her to the country of regret. As she pushed the dirt and soil onto and around the seed and packed it carefully in place, the sky began to cry. She had never seen the lonely blue skies of her country cry, and she wondered, “Why?”

Over time, her little orange seed, watered by the tears of the sky above, began to sprout. It began to spread its leaves and stretch toward the sky. It began to grow. And the sky did not always cry. Sometimes, the clouds would break up and there would be blue sky smiling down on the girl and her orange tree. It was not a lonely blue sky, though, like there had been in the old country. It was a hopeful blue sky. And as the clouds returned time and time again, they no longer seemed menacing and angry, as they had that first day she had arrived in the country of regret. Instead, the girl began to realize, these clouds did not cry tears of anger, nor even sadness; they were tears of joy. She began to gaze into the sky in wonder, watching the tears fall from the fluffy dark clouds that rested above her. They, too, brought hope because both the blue skies and the clouds helped the girl's orange tree to grow, and grow, and grow.

One day, the girl's tree produced its first orange. It was more oblong than round, more dirty yellow in color than bright orange, but it was an orange. In delight the girl plucked the orange from the branches of her tree. She had been waiting so long for this day. She had not tasted an orange since the day she left behind her country and landed in regret so many years before. Carefully, as though the orange were delicate, the girl peeled the orange as she sat beneath her tree, patchy clouds floating through the blue sky above her. Pulling out a section of the orange, she took a deep breath and then brought the piece of orange to her lips. Gently, she took a bite.

She was not prepared for the sweetness that burst across her tongue! There was no bitterness in this orange at all, only perfect sweetness. As she took another bite, she wondered: why was this tree different than all of the trees she had left behind in her comfortable home before? Why was it different even than the tree from which the seed itself had come? Was it because of the dirt and soil that she had so laboriously dug up herself in this country of regret to plant the seed? Was it because this tree was nurtured not only by the sunshine of a blue sky but also the rain of a clouded sky? Or was it really different at all? Maybe it only seemed different because she had waited so long and eagerly for it. Maybe her anticipation caused this perfectly normal bittersweet orange to taste like candy. Or maybe it was all of these things. Maybe the dirt of regret dug up by her hands and the clouds that often covered the blue skies and the anticipation and patience of watching her orange tree take so long to come to maturity in this new, strange place all worked together to make this orange the sweetest she had ever eaten.

Maybe she should go back and tell her family. Maybe they did not know that regret was not as scary as it seems at first. Maybe they did not know that oranges can grow even in a dusty, barren land if they are given time and patience. Maybe they did not know that the clouds and the rains were necessary to make the orange trees grow strong and sweet – that the lonely blue skies were not actually enough. Maybe they did not know.