He spent his first few weeks of life in a plastic tub, a synthetically fabricated environment designed to grow him as strong as he could be. Eventually, he couldn’t fit in the space he was allowed, and they moved him to a larger container. Though entirely alone, he was given all the nutrients and warmth he needed to be strong. They groomed him and shaped him into the perfect specimen. Every day they watched him, never letting anyone else in. Always maintaining his needs.

When he was old enough, they removed him from his controlled space and lined him up with others who synthetically came to be, like him. Dozens of his brothers and sister, unknown to him before now, stretched out in row upon row to his left and to his right, mere inches apart. Never touching, never speaking.  Always growing stronger, taller, more perfect.

Forces of the world ripped at them. Onslaughts from above. Sometimes days or weeks without water. They were trampled and exposed to contamination. Some of his brethren fell, but not him. He stood fast, held the line. Stayed strong.

Time found him. No matter how perfect his upbringing, no matter how strong they had made him, he was not immortal. He withered, unable to withstand the piercing cold. To his left and to his right, no others stood. Once again he was alone.

He ended quietly. His remains and the remains of his kind were gathered into bins. The nutrients from their decay would be reused to fuel the next wave of their kind. The entirety of what he was no more than a blink in the span of time.

And so it continues.

Generation after generation.

Without end.


 flower in pot


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