| General Fiction posted June 27, 2021 |
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A short story-ish
Overgrown
by giraffmang
Gunther stared at the overgrown garden. Brambles strangled what little plants were left alive. Weeds littered the beds. With a sigh and a shrug, he hefted the petrol-powered strimmer and jabbed the start button. A cough and splutter, Gunther was ready to go.
The vibrations through his thick gloves felt surprisingly good. The devastation left in his wake with each sweep more satisfying still. Splinters flew, weeds fell and sweat erupted.
Before long, Gunther powered down the machine of destruction and surveyed what lay before him. He grinned as he set down the strimmer and went to fetch the bin. He smiled as he set about clearing up the debris, wondering why and how he’d managed to let it get into this state in the first place.
“Life just gets in the way, sometimes,” he murmured, pulling up some pulverised roots.
By the end of a long afternoon, the garden was looking much more presentable; the weeds exiled; the grass low; and the flower beds were nicely tilled.
Gunther fetched a glass of water and sank down onto a deckchair he hadn’t known he’d had. Taking a nice, deep drink he closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, I’ll plant.
Gunther stared at the overgrown garden. Brambles strangled what little plants were left alive. Weeds littered the beds. With a sigh and a shrug, he hefted the petrol-powered strimmer and jabbed the start button. A cough and splutter, Gunther was ready to go.
The vibrations through his thick gloves felt surprisingly good. The devastation left in his wake with each sweep more satisfying still. Splinters flew, weeds fell and sweat erupted.
Before long, Gunther powered down the machine of destruction and surveyed what lay before him. He grinned as he set down the strimmer and went to fetch the bin. He smiled as he set about clearing up the debris, wondering why and how he’d managed to let it get into this state in the first place.
“Life just gets in the way, sometimes,” he murmured, pulling up some pulverised roots.
By the end of a long afternoon, the garden was looking much more presentable; the weeds exiled; the grass low; and the flower beds were nicely tilled.
Gunther fetched a glass of water and sank down onto a deckchair he hadn’t known he’d had. Taking a nice, deep drink he closed his eyes. “Tomorrow, I’ll plant.
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It's not about gardening...
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