Uprooted Novels & Stories

]** **[VANCE GLOBAL INITIATIVE DECLARES CHAPTER 7 TOTAL LIQUIDATION. **[BILLIONS OF 'COLLATERAL' SOULS RELEASED FROM THE SHROUD.]** I stood up, my violet form flickering in the sunlight. I was a "Remainder." A piece of data that the system had forgotten to delete. I walked toward the center of the park, where a massive violet tree was growing. It was the "Anchor" I had planted. And sitting beneath the tree, holding a young girl in his arms, was a man with dark hair and deep, human brown eyes.

A violent, psychic shove. GO! The aster, roots and tiny bloom, is ripped from the sundered cliff. Not into the void. Down. Through layers of screaming rock, weeping memory-vines, gnawing void-stomachs. Down into the absolute dark. Down into the core of the Unraveler’s cell. Its perfect, malevolent negation. The roots hit the impossible, non-dimensional walls of its prison. And… pierce.

She fed it with the strength of her friends' survival. The black pool at the base of the tree began to bubble but it wasn't a hot, angry boil. It was a slow, releasing fizz, like a wound being cleaned. The thick tar began to thin, turning from black to dark brown, then to the rich, dark colour of healthy soil. The black veins receded from the land, pulling back towards the tree. The skeletal branches of the Heartroot trembled then, with a sound like a long, relieved sigh, a single, green leaf pushed its way out from a crack in the dead wood.

It is when your parents or people so close to you do not even give you a listening ear. They feel so right in everything they do. That is why so many children feel unloved and abandoned All these while I felt relaxed that my mom would hear me out but, she just disappointed me so badly. I do not think I can ever trust her and tell her anything. Ever! This would be my last mistake. After she left and went to prepare for work, I just laid in bed helplessly. I needed to get this out of me. I could not call my dad because he will not even answer my call.

All these different rootednesses. All these different quiet fuels. None of them the same. All of them necessary. The triangulation that produced what no single position could. The room holding the diversity. The diversity making the room strong. She pressed her hands flat against the cold earth. The roots below. The territory breathing. The record growing. The formation traveling. The companion thing reaching. The rootedness sustaining. The quiet fuel. The roots deepening. The water still. Rising still. Always. Third winter. The roots deep enough to hold through anything.

The Roots Weep Mirra knelt at the base of a gnarled elder oak, her knees pressing into damp soil. Her fingers traced the moss that clung stubbornly to the bark. Normally, the moss was lush and springy, cool with life. A comfort. A promise of the tree’s health, of the forest’s endless resilience. But today, it crumbled beneath her touch. Brittle. Dry. As if some unseen blight had brushed through, scouring away vitality in its wake.

New message. A photo of our cemetery, time-stamped five minutes ago. Fresh dirt disturbed. A shovel in frame. Under it, three words. DIG HIM UP.

Miles away, Alex and Kota managed to find shelter of their own shortly before the storm resumed. They had hiked along the riverside for the majority of the day, until at last, Kota spotted a large tree growing into the rocky side of the cliff. Due to its interrupted growth pattern, the tree’s roots had been pulled upward from the ground for several feet. The two of them realized that if they could quickly secure it into a small sanctuary, then there was a chance they might be able to survive the night.

𝑐𝑒, 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑝𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑥𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦. 𝐸𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝐼'𝑑 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑚� �.

But right now, when he needed his father's influence the most, his father dearest had backed away, causing him to mentally writh in abandonment. When the conflict, downstairs, didn't seem to be ending any soon, Edward let out a sigh and got up. Dumping the empty bottle of liquor inside the dumpster, he rubbed his hands over his face to clear bit of alcoholic effects that could indicate he had been high on drugs from past one week, before he exited the room.