Clearing The Yard


Paul pulled hard once, abruptly. The lawnmower didn't start. He pulled it again, not as hard, not as abrupt. Nothing.

He pulled that shit twice in a row, and then a third pull failed halfway through. He let go of the small handle, walked away to take a few breaths.

"Come on you fuckin'," he said to the lawnmower, his hands on his hips as he walked small circles in the yard.

He primed that shit five, six, seven, lost count times. Pew pew pew pew pew pew.

He pulled the cord as hard as he could, hard enough to rip his arm out of the socket if he were pulling against something solid.

The engine fired up.

Paul cracked a half-smile and then headed into his lawn, his forehead already damp with sweat.

Paul cleared out the entirety of the "normal" yard and then had to clean up the hardscaped garden in the corner.

He couldn't remember the last time he actually groomed the garden; a year ago? Two years ago?

Paul grabbed his hedge trimmer. He liked using this more than any of his other tools; electric. Push a button and it starts.

He hit the safety button and pulled the trigger, and the familiar droning whir of the blades filled the air. He lunged the device forward at an outward branch of wine berry and it snipped right off.

Through the new opening view, he saw something in the foliage. Flesh-colored, something that gave Paul a nervous ping in his stomach.

It was a man, laying completely naked and staring at Paul.

"Hey—hey what the fuck are you doing?" Paul said loudly, his voice wavering slightly from fear and adrenaline.

The naked man did not move or say anything.

Paul took a step forward, swiftly lopped away an overhanging branch from either side, expanding his view of the man.

"Who are you, get the fuck out of here!" Paul yelled.

The naked man did not move or say anything.

Paul stepped forward again, close enough to almost touch the man.

"I'm warning you," Paul said as he took another step, his pants getting stuck by the wine berry thorns.

Paul pressed the safety button and pulled the trigger, his hedge trimmer droning as he slowly moved it towards the man.

The naked man did not move or say anything.

Paul lurched the trimmer forward, inches from the man now. He kept moving it, slowly but steadily, as if he himself were unable to stop it. It made contact, a spray of blood splashed back at Paul as flesh and metal blurred into one.

The naked man did not move or say anything.


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