Jarek knelt in the moonlit field, his fingers trembling as they sifted through the soil. The earth was dry, cracked, and barely clinging to life—much like him. He’d worked in secret for months, stealing fertilizer from government warehouses and collecting rainwater in rusted barrels hidden behind his barn.

Natural farming had been outlawed a decade ago. The World Climate Accord had deemed it inefficient and destructive, replacing it with synthetic food factories that churned out flavorless sustenance. "For the planet," they’d said. But Jarek remembered what real food tasted like—warm tomatoes plucked straight from the vine, sweet corn kernels popping between his teeth. He remembered his father’s hands, caked in dirt, holding up a plump squash with pride.

Tonight, under the cover of darkness, the first shoots of his defiance were ready.

He wiped his brow, glancing at the sky. Drones patrolled the air, scanning for any signs of forbidden agriculture. Getting caught meant prison—or worse. But Jarek couldn’t stop. This wasn’t just about rebellion; it was about hope.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel froze him. He spun around, heart hammering. A shadow emerged from the treeline.

“Jarek,” a voice whispered. It was Lena, his neighbor. Her face was pale, her eyes wide. “You’ve been reported.”

His stomach dropped. “Who?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. They’re coming. You need to leave.”

Jarek looked at the tiny sprouts pushing up from the soil. He couldn’t abandon them. “I can’t,” he said.

Lena grabbed his arm, her grip firm. “You can’t save them if you’re dead.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he knelt back down, covering the fragile plants with straw and dirt. “Go,” he said. “Tell them you didn’t find me.”

“You’re insane,” she hissed, but her voice broke with fear.

Jarek didn’t answer. As Lena disappeared into the shadows, he stayed with his crops, the cool dirt against his hands grounding him.

When the drones descended minutes later, their floodlights blinding, Jarek stood tall amidst his hidden field. He didn’t flinch as the guards approached, their voices sharp, their guns raised.

“Step away from the soil,” one barked.

Jarek smiled. They could take him, but they couldn’t take the seeds buried deep in the earth. By the time anyone noticed the tiny plants sprouting across the abandoned fields around the village, it would be too late.

Hope, like weeds, had a way of spreading.