Must. Water. Lawn.

Here is a wee story I wrote for a Flash Fiction Contest. It has to be less than 500 words and they give you 4-5 words you have to incorporate and sometimes a theme. These happen monthly, and they are a lot of fun.

Must. Water. Lawn, by Angela Douglas

I felt like I was floating.  Putting one foot in front of the other, slowly, methodically, and lightly.  I could see the grass blur past my bare feet, but could not feel the ground underneath them.  I looked up briefly and became dizzy, so I quickly looked back down.  Drifting, gliding, moving with a strange grace.

My speed slowed slightly when I reached the rocks at the top of the hill.  Although they were small in size, I could feel each object jabbing into the arch of my foot.  Why wasn’t I wearing shoes?  

I needed to move the sprinklers around the yard.  They were twisted, and tangled, and it was going to be a hot one tomorrow.  

My sight was fuzzy and unclear.  It was hard to focus on any one thing in front of me.  My other senses were heightened.  I heard every cricket, and smelled my sugary gardenias in the distance.  I could feel blood seeping from a fresh wound on my foot.  It was quite dark.  I could hear someone calling my name.  Or at least I thought I could.

“John!  John!  Jooooooohn!”

I turned to look in the direction of the voice, and I couldn’t make anything out at first.  I blinked a few times and it looked like a silhouette of my wife eating a sandwich on our front porch, hollering at me with her mouth full.  Now it looked like she was choking.  I turned to move toward her but my legs were stuck and then I hit the ground.

Splash splash splash – the sprinkler was gushing into my face.  I could see more clearly now, though it was still black outside.  I looked up and my neighbour Frank (who I hate) stood above me with his hands on his hips.  No wife, no sandwich, no choking.  “What on earth are you doing here?  It’s 3am.  Care to elaborate?”

I looked around and noticed I was outside of his barn, quite a distance from my house.  At three o’clock in the morning, stark naked, wrapped up in a band of sprinkler hoses.  All I could muster was “Err….I suppose I was sleepwalking?”

He sounded angry, but looked amused.  “Get back home before I call the cops!  Or your wife.”

He returned to his home and left me lying there, in his yard in the middle of the night.  I was wearing nothing but shame, face down with my bright white butt illuminated by the moon.

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