Hi guys, could someone please help me mark this creative essay I wrote! 🙏🙏 The prompt was a quote, "It wasn't supposed to rain today."
"The Dreams of Apple-Blossom Farm"
The crisp scent of apples and cinnamon perfumed the air as the sunlight penetrated through the gloomy clouds to shower everything in sight with its golden rays. Hundreds of thousands of emerald green leaves hung off the apple trees that grew in uniform lines. Small apple blossoms bloomed from the small branches, their colours ranging from rosy pinks to peachy whites. A slight breeze wafted throughout the orchard, swaying the apples and flowers with it.
But as the faint smell of petrichor pierced my nostrils, a sense of shock passed through me. Its starting to rain. Instinctively, I held my arm out, little water droplets plopping themselves down on my arm. It wasn't supposed to rain today. It couldn't. Not after all the work I had put in to make sure this batch of apples made it out of here. There had been too much rain over the past week. Another shower, and all my dreams would fail. Shatter. Blend themselves in with the all the other things that had gone wrong with my life.
Hurriedly, I ran to the house, frantically twisting the brass doorknob, and practically tripping over my own legs trying to reach the telephone as fast as I could. I dialled the number and hit call. Nothing. I pressed call again. Still nothing. I tried again. "Yes mate, how can I help you today?" the man said, his cheerful voice the last thing I wanted to hear. "I was just calling to check if there was heavy rain scheduled for the area near Apple-Blossom Farm." I said, voice tingling with trepidation. "Oooh yes mate, bit of a surprise there, a satellite caught heavy clouds forming over the area. Likely more than 10mm of rain around there. Hope that answers what you were looking for." he says. I practically croak out, "Cheers mate."
Oh no. No. This can't be happening. 10mm would destroy the whole orchard. It would destroy me. But more importantly, it would destroy her. I look up at the picture, peeling and bleached, with only a pair of eyes surviving it, strikingly blue against the white backdrop. I remember the last words my mom said to me, "Keep the farm alive, make it bigger, better." Now, as I sink to my knees, tears streaming down my cheeks, it almost feels as if I was destined for this fate.
I look outside the window, rain pattering across the soil and red apples glistening with moisture. In a week, the apples will be rotten, and I will be doomed. But for now, I slink into a velvet armchair, a cup of hot chocolate in my hands. I wonder as the chocolatey scent wafts into my nose, "Why did it rain? It wasn't supposed to rain today."
Thanks!!
