allegedly fiction

A thousand lives; maybe only a hundred. Within my open palm, I held ancestors and children, the dust and DNA of all that came before and the potential for all that will be. 

I cried. I wasn’t sad, mad, or in any mood in particular that day. I just stared at the tiny dried tomato seed, suddenly aware of how many ancestors came before it, and how many children it will seed, and how many more seeds it will create and create and create and blossom and fruit. 

One seed. A million ancestors and future potentials, in the palm of my hand.

I was in awe. 

I stared at it, fascinated. 

And awe, again.  

It just never occurred to me, really, before that day. 

Yes, we all know seeds produce the produce, and that we two-leggeds came from a sort of seed/egg. I had seen the display on human gestation at the Grand Rapids Public Museum, when it was on Lafayette, with a peculiar scent that I could never place, but I’d know it if I smelled it again. I wasn’t intrigued, nor did I care at that young age. It was just plastic and lighting and hands-on dials. 

Holding the one tomato seed that day, for whatever reason, suddenly felt like I held a tiny, priceless treasure.

I recall that day easily, even though I don’t think about it often. Even now, conjuring that image is as fresh as if it were yesterday. It’s not a tale I’ve told to my sons, my grandchildren, or even my mother or brother. Maybe Someone “up there” noticed me noticing His creation and doesn’t think me too weird for appreciating the miracle of a single tomato seed.

Fall Semester 2026 – EN 111 submission