measured_words (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
measured_words) wrote2007-07-06 07:07 pm
measured_words) wrote2007-07-06 07:07 pm
Keep Off the Grass
A story that I wrote after wandering around campus while thinking about a game I'm in. It really doesn't have anything to do with the game itself, save for being set in that world, Faust, for which I have to credit ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stillwater_. Of course, he scavenged bit from a zillion different places to create it, so I have no shame in scavenging bits in return! Please enjoy! And I should note for anyone who is dubious that i really don't consider this as gaming fiction, per sey, so even if you aren't interested in my other game related stories, you should still be able to enjoy this :p
Keep off the Grass
Mason stood in his back yard, safely on the concrete swath that covered the ground, staring at the crack. Had it been there the day before when he’d been playing Defenders of the Wall with Lucas and Saren? None of them had touched it, had they? He decided that, no, it was new – an invasion that had sprung up overnight. He ran back into the house.
“Muuuum!”
Mason and his mother rented a small suite of rooms in one of the brightly painted townhouses of Mirth’s Bonetown on a street little different from hundreds of others. It was inconceivable that their little home might have been selected as a staging point for an invasion. It didn’t take the boy long to find his mother in her workshop bent over her large magnifying lens, attaching tiny links of chain to a delicate skull plated in silver.
“What is it dear?” She sounded tired – she always did – and didn’t look up.
“Mum, there’s *grass* in the yard!” Mason clenched his fists together expectantly, distressed and waiting for the world to be set to rights. His mother looked up sharply.
“I don’t have time for jokes, sweetie.”
“It isn’t a joke, there is really grass! There’s a crack, too, and the grass is growing in it.” He nodded, wide eyed, in emphasis, waiting for his mother to spring into action. “In the crack.” She carefully set down her tools and rose, slowly, from her seat, reaching out for his hand.
“Lets go see.”
He led her through the tiny house and out the back where he’d only moments before abandoned the chalk images he’d been drawing of his friends fearlessly battling a pride of lions. He’d never seen a real one, but there were images in some of the picture books he’d seen at school which were based on descriptions of harvesters and soldiers who protected the city. He’d started the previous evening, capturing another image in the longstanding saga of the Defenders played out that afternoon. Now he dragged his mother across the concrete canvas without a spare thought for the integrity of his artistic efforts. Her forehead pinched into a familiar expression of nervous worry, and she squeezed his hand more tightly.
“Keep away from it, Mason.”
It was just a small intrusion – fewer blades of green than he could count on both hands. The crack itself was tiny, but everyone knew just how insidious the Green could be. Never touch the earth. Keep off the grass. The Green hated humanity, and the tricks in its arsenal were more than anyone could have recorded in a lifetime.
“Yes mum.” He looked searchingly into her face, hoping to see anything other than nervous fear. She smile reassuringly, but didn’t loosen her grip.
“I’ll have the sprayers take care of it. You go play inside.”
Mason related the incident to his friends the next day, and the tale spread quickly through the other children. Some of the older ones had seen grass before, and even some weeds, that had forced ways through the weak points in decaying pavement along some of the neighborhood’s older streets. They were quicker to dismiss the excitement of the younger crowd, playing up their own worldliness to cement their positions in local cliques. Still, Mason’s tale made him a celebrity among his own peers, and some of his closer friends, eager to test their resolve in the face of this minor manifestation of human kind’s great enemy, asked if they could come and see the crack.
“Mum won’t let me in the yard until the sprayers come.”
“We’ll have to sneak out and meet in secret,” Saren glared around the little group, daring any to rat out their plans and promising a beating to any who considered it. Some of the less adventurous hangers on shifted uneasily, and a couple who had been wavering on the fringes of the group slunk off to find less dangerous prospects for entertainment. “By the fountain,” she continued solemnly, “at moonrise.”
“‘Should we bring anything?” Lucas looked between Saren, their usual ringleader, and Mason. “Like, a weapon?”
Mason opened his mouth, but Saren beat him to the punch. “It’s just grass, stupid. What are you going to do, stab it to death?”
Lucas stuck to his guns. “What if it isn’t *just* grass though?”
The debate escalated when another girl asked when (and what) moonrise was, precisely. Words led to pushing, and pushing brought the attention of teachers who broke up the unruly conspirators before any plans could be finalized. Mason managed to arrange to meet at Lucas’s parents’ store that afternoon when they were let out of their classes. It was an arrangement that generally suited both families – Mason helped Lucas with work-related chores in return for somewhat closer adult supervision than his mother could provide from her sequestered workroom.
The boys made their own plans. They would meet by the fountain at midnight – it might not sound as mysterious as moonrise, but it was surely less confusing. If they had a chance they could spread the word to their other friends that evening. Mason, at least, wouldn’t be allowed to play in his own yard unless the sprayers had come around to dispatch the biological intrusion with their harsh smelling chemicals. If they had, the whole expedition would be pointless: no one wanted to sneak out of their homes in the middle of the night and risk a beating to see dead grass. The boys were restocking the shelves in the store front and had just resumed the debate about the usefulness of weaponry when Mason felt the press of cold metal on shoulder.
“What are you two lads whispering about over here now?”
Both boys broke out in to big grins – here was just the person to resolve the question!
“Adrian!” Lucas blurted. “Mason has grass in his yard! I want to go see if but I think I should have a weapon, is that right?”
The tall harvester frowned, bending down to reach their level. His bright black hair contrasted deeply with the death pallor of his skin and the strips of thin white cloth that covered most of his body from the neck down. Adrian never wore a shirt as his shroud covered him decently enough, but had thick leather pants, died black, and thick soled boots that kept him that much further off the ground during his ventures into the Green. He was a real Citizen of Mirth – not just someone who lived there, but one who’d received the Kiss of Life from the Queen. The rumor was that he had died in an airship crash, and that it had partly fused his flesh to the armour he’d been wearing. His metal hand and the steel plate that covered the opposite shoulder were the best support of the theory, but neither boy speculated too much. He’d been a frequent visitor to their neighborhood since before either of them could recall, and counted him an excellent source for new stories of adventure and exploration beyond the safety of the city’s outer walls.
Mason cut in with a more pressing question before Adrian had a chance to reply. “If the harvesters are back, does that mean there’s going to be meat tonight?”
“There’ll be meat for some, son, same as always.” He sighed. The lines for food brought in from outside were long, and there were often shortages even in Mirth where the harvesters were headquartered. Only Citizens could be harvesters – the Green did not react to their presence the way it did the living, and they could venture out in relative safety. “I heard about your grass problem. Just leave it alone, let the sprayers take care of it.” The boys looked at each other dubiously. “No, really – it isn’t that much to look at, is it Mason?”
“Well…” There hadn’t really been that much of it. A few greenish spears sticking out their heads – like a line of advanced scouts. But was it that interesting?
“You’re only saying that because you see grass, like every day,” Lucas countered. “And trees, even. And dangerous animals! Of course it is boring to you. But there’s grass in our neighborhood! Right in his yard!”
“Yeah!” It was an invasion, no matter how small. “Mum and I have to live there. And what if the sprayers don’t come right away? And how can we grow up and be Defenders of the Walls if we can’t even look at some grass?”
“I don’t think your mother wants you to go grow up and fight the Green, son.”
“That’s just ‘cause she’s scared! We’re not scared, are we, Lucas?”
“No!” His friend crossed his arms and set his jaw to demonstrate his resolve, and Mason copied him. The harvester considered them both for a moment and, no doubt seeing the futility of standing against their firm determination, smiled.
“Well, that’s some spirit there, boys. You wanna fight the Green, huh?” They both nodded emphatically. “Well then I’ll tell you a secret.” Adrian lifted a metal finger to the side of his nose. “Grass ain’t so bad. It’ll spread, and if there’s enough of it, the Green can turn it into something worse, but you don’t have to worry about that yet. Weeds are worse because if they flower, they can spread their seeds further, or sometimes they can poison the air and spread diseases. But if you wanna try and kill the grass, well,” he glanced around and then dropped his voice, “you could piss on it.”
“Really?” Mason’s eyes widened at the revelation.
“It can’t hurt. I’ve seen it outside, places where animals have been fighting over territory – the grass turns all yellow and dead. Lots of airship travelers piss over the side, too, just in case they can do a little damage.” The boys shared looks of amazement, considering new plans for their midnight excursion. Adrian straightened up and winked down at them. “Now, you two best be getting back to work.”
There was meat for dinner that night, and Mason chewed carefully, drawing strength for his mission from the flesh of his enemy, just like a real Defender of the Wall might do. He asked his mother, but the sprayers hadn’t come that afternoon. Tomorrow, she told him, but Mason hoped that by tomorrow they wouldn’t be needed at all.
It was never hard for him to sneak out, even though he slept in the same room as his mother. She was always so tired from working late into the evening that she fell right to sleep and hardly even tossed and turned at all. His only worry was that he might be late – sometimes she worked almost until midnight. Tonight he was lucky, as she was sleeping soundly by eleven thirty. He dressed in his darkest clothing, befitting of a secret attack, and scrambled out a window and down the decaying pastel yellow painted stonework. He’d already taken the key to the rear gate so that they wouldn’t have to come back through the house.
The fountain was two blocks away, and when he arrived he found not only Lucas, but Saren as well.
“I thought I was going to have to wait all night for you scaredycats,” she whispered challengingly. “I’ve been here since *moonrise*.”
Lucas looked at him apologetically, but Mason just shrugged. Who could understand girls? Especially girls like Saren. She wasn’t even dressed right, but still in the pale grey knee-length jumper she’d worn to school. Lucas even had a black shirt wrapped around his head, covering his sandy blond hair – a nice touch.
“I tried to tell her that she can’t fight the grass with us on account of she’s a girl, but she just hit me.” Lucas rubbed his shoulder for emphasis. Saren pouted crossly.
“You think girls can’t pee on grass? Boys are so dumb!”
Mason had to admit that the prospect was baffling, but he was a bit curious. Girls just didn’t have the right equipment – but there was no telling her that. “Well… she can at least come along and watch...”
This time Lucas punched him in the shoulder. “What! No she can’t!”
“Ow! Be quiet! I didn’t mean *watch* watch. Just, you know, see the grass.”
“I’ll show you just what I can do, Mason, if you don’t stop talking like I do it! Maybe I’ll even let you watch, huh, or are you too scared?”
Lucas looked suitably daunted, providing little support when Mason glanced his way. “Lets just go before someone hears us out here, okay? And be quiet – if we wake up mum she’ll tan my hide and I’ll never leave the house again.”
Falling into a cautious if uneasy silence, the trio proceeded quietly around the row of townhouses to the fenced in yard behind. Mason had to concede, though grudgingly, that Saren stood out a little less starkly against Bonetown’s moonwashed pastels. After listening closely at the gate, Mason opened the back gate with the key he’d pilfered. It swung silently inwards on its hinges. They peered into their familiar playspace, taking in the scene before entering. Sticks of coloured chalk still littered the ground around Mason’s unfinished graffiti, and afternoon winds had introduced some street litter into the corners of the enclosure. The little table and bench where Mason and his mother sometimes dined in nicer weather sat in their accustomed places near the back of the house. A broom and other props rested against the table where the trio had last abandoned them after their games.
“It’s over here,” Mason whispered, the first to venture forward. It was hard to see in the dark shadows cast by the courtyard walls, but Lucas produced a small gas lamp, probably ‘borrowed’ off the shelves of his parents’ store. Once the gate was closed, they only had to risk being noticed by any of the townhouse’s soundly sleeping occupants. Mason led his friends over to his right, keeping a close eye out incase he should accidentally step on the crack.
The lamplight created eerie shadows, making the crevice seem like a tiny bottomless pit. The grass, which Mason swore was taller, stretched black tendrils away from the adventurers, as though it were trying to escape into the night. Lucas set the lamp down, and the three crowded and crouched around the crevice, surrounding the enemy.
“There isn’t very much of it.” Saren sounded disappointed.
“Well, good!” Lucas rejoined, giving her a look suggesting that she might want to get her head examined.
“There’s more than there was,” Mason breathed cautiously, “and it’s higher.” The taller blades towered brazenly above the crack, and had bolstered their presence with double their number of smaller shoots. They watched it for another minute, but the grass remained static. Mason stood, fumbling with the ties on his shorts. “I’m gonna go first. It’s my yard.”
Lucas pulled Saren away, hovering at the edge of the ring of light. “You can’t *watch*, okay?”
“Then how will we know if he does it?”
“We’ll hear it, okay? And it will be wet, I guess.”
Mason let them bicker. It might have even been better to have witnesses, but Lucas was probably going to be a baby about it and he didn’t want to make a scene and wake up his mum. Besides which, he was finding it a little difficult to let himself go. He tried thinking about fountains, and rain, and wished he’d had a big drink of water before he’d gone to join the other two. In the end, he made himself relax, and imagined he was a brave warrior, unintimidated by the enemy hoards, and that he alone had the secret weapon, if only he dared unleash it… He was rewarded with a thin but steady stream of urine which he quickly directed into the narrow crack, soaking the green blades as thoroughly as he could.
Lucas was next – before he lost his nerve – and then Saren. She had to take off her knickers (a prospect fascinating on its own), and crouched carefully above the crevice. Both boys held their breath, worried that she might lose her balance or that the Green might have some way of exploiting her precarious precaution. The others both had trouble going too, and Saren hopped away quickly when she was done, wide-eyed and a little pale. The grass had been beaten flat against the pavement by the soaking they’d given it – it certainly looked defeated. The friends sealed their secret with spit and a handshake, and Mason carefully locked the gate after the others as they withdrew.
They only talked about it in hushed whispers the next day at school, though Mason still enjoyed some general celebrity among his other friends. When he got home, his mother told me that a sprayer had come by, but said that the grass seemed to have died off on its own. It seemed that was that. She’d arranged for someone to come by in the next few days to seal off the pavement. Mason was allowed back out in the yard with admonishment to keep away from the crack. He played at the store, and worked on his picture after dinner. The trio celebrated their victory with some candy they purchased with pooled funds, and sweetened water they pretended was liquor.
Two days later it had rained, and no one had yet come to fix the yard. It had been overcast before Mason had left for school, and began pouring later in the morning. It cleared up quickly, the day turning scorching hot so that by the time he hurried home there were hardly any puddles to be found along the way. He’d had a hard time concentrating on his lessons, too worried that the rain might bring back the grass after it washed away all traces of the trio’s secret chemical war. After he mentioned his fears to the others, and they’d agreed on another midnight rendezvous, just in case. If nothing else, it would serve to cement their victory.
His mother was at work in her shop when she arrived, and looked up from her sanding bench with some surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the store, sweetie?”
“I’m going, mum.” Just as soon as he checked the yard. “But Lucas wants to borrow my chalks and I said I would bring them over.”
“Alright, you boys have fun. Dinner might be late tonight, I need to finish this commission for tomorrow, so you don’t need to hurry back.” She smiled, and bent over her work.
“Did they come and fix the yard yet?”
“No, dear – the men came by but it was raining too hard. It will be fixed tomorrow.”
Mason left her workshop and headed out back. He would be lucky if his chalks weren’t ruined, since he had never put them away properly, but he wasn’t worrying about them too much. Lucas had his own – they were just an excuse. He walked right past them, heading to the corner where the crack stretched innocuously. The grass was still dead, but there was something in its place.
It was a weed, that was clear, but he couldn’t remember seeing any pictures of its kind. It had a single leaf, a serrated spade stretching out from a flimsy stalk supporting a bulbous green head. Mason stepped back, remembering what Adrian had said. The bud was tinged with purple at the tip and along the scored lines which threatened to bloom open and spread its infection further through the city.
What should he do? He couldn’t leave it, and he certainly couldn’t imagine Saren squatting over it. The sprayers certainly wouldn’t be around before it was too late. Maybe if he could find Adrian… But the harvester didn’t live nearby as far as he knew, he just visited a lot. And what would he do? Probably just laugh and ruffle Mason’s hair and just rip it out of the ground by its roots. Well, Mason could do that, surely – the last part. He didn’t want anyone to laugh at him for being scared of a weed, the way he could imagine the older kids at school might if they heard. No – he’d already shown he could fight the Green on his own turf, and he wasn’t going to stop now!
He stepped up to the crack, screwing up his courage. He grabbed the stalk and pulled – it didn’t come up by the roots at all, but snapped off in his hand, oozing a milky sweet-smelling fluid. And that was all. He stared the weed, hanging limp and lifeless in his fist. It was a vanquished foe, a harmless war trophy. He could show the others later, after they’d made sure to eradicate any other invading agents of the Green. But for now, he had someone else to impress.
“Muuuum!” Mason raced back through the house, tightening his grip around the plant. He could hear a reply from the workshop, but was too excited to listen to her exact words, stopping only at the threshold. “Look what I did!”
His mother’s face clouded with horror as he raised the dead plant for her inspection. She was on her feet in seconds, her project knocked carelessly to the ground. “Mason!”
“I killed it, mum,” he started to reassure her, but her shock drew his attention back to the not so helpless victim of his defensive strike. The bud had turned back and swollen, almost floating above his hand. The liquid that dripped onto his wrist had likewise putrefied in the short jaunt across the pavement and through the house. The foul thing strained against its skin even as he released it, turning to throw it out away from the workshop. The strain was too much, and it burst open in a burning cloud of sweet smelling decay. It filled his lungs and poisoned his air, and as he fell he turned back to see his mother, frozen by her fear. He could scarcely register her scream as the world darkened around him and extinguished.
His head felt fuzzy when he woke, and his body heavy. Mason could hear his mother’s voice somewhere beyond him. She’d been crying, or maybe still was.
“I can’t go through this again, Adrian. I can’t. I can’t bear it.”
“But he’s not gone, Freya. He needs you. You’re his mother.”
“My son… I need my son to grow up. To live. Not to remind me, every day… He needs *you* now. Take care of him.” What did she mean? “Let me go, Adrian. Please.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mason tried to sit up and struggled to open his eyes. He didn’t understand what was going on, and everything still felt sluggish. His mouth was dry, and his skin felt tight and itchy. The weed. Mason remembered choking. The room swam in to focus, and he brought a hand up to his face. It was covered in thin strips of stiff white cloth. He touched his face, feeling fabric pressing against his cheek as well. Where was his mother? Was she coming to him? The room was unfamiliar, much fancier than home. The thick metal door seemed to swing open just as his eyes fixed on it, but it was not his mother who stepped inside.
He almost didn’t recognize the harvester. His face was the same, with the plate on his shoulder and the metal hand, but now Mason could see where these met the scarred flesh of his chest and arm. Jagged lines of stitching crossed his torso joining patches of mismatched skin, some with old but angry burns or smaller pieces of embedded shrapnel.
He took Mason’s hands, looking over the wrapping. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did Mason – he was too confused, and his voice didn’t seem to want to work right.
“I’m sorry, son,” the older man said eventually, meeting Mason’s eyes. Adrian’s were dark and sad. “You’re a brave kid. You’re going to come stay with me for a while, okay?”
Mason wanted ask for his mum, but the words still wouldn’t come out. His jaw was wrapped shut – his whole face below the eyes. Adrian sat down on the little bed, and wrapped an arm around him, sensing his distress. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. “Don’t be scared.”
He nodded, leaning into the harvester. But his mother wasn’t coming for him, and Mason was more terrified of that than anything else.
stillwater_. Of course, he scavenged bit from a zillion different places to create it, so I have no shame in scavenging bits in return! Please enjoy! And I should note for anyone who is dubious that i really don't consider this as gaming fiction, per sey, so even if you aren't interested in my other game related stories, you should still be able to enjoy this :pKeep off the Grass
Mason stood in his back yard, safely on the concrete swath that covered the ground, staring at the crack. Had it been there the day before when he’d been playing Defenders of the Wall with Lucas and Saren? None of them had touched it, had they? He decided that, no, it was new – an invasion that had sprung up overnight. He ran back into the house.
“Muuuum!”
Mason and his mother rented a small suite of rooms in one of the brightly painted townhouses of Mirth’s Bonetown on a street little different from hundreds of others. It was inconceivable that their little home might have been selected as a staging point for an invasion. It didn’t take the boy long to find his mother in her workshop bent over her large magnifying lens, attaching tiny links of chain to a delicate skull plated in silver.
“What is it dear?” She sounded tired – she always did – and didn’t look up.
“Mum, there’s *grass* in the yard!” Mason clenched his fists together expectantly, distressed and waiting for the world to be set to rights. His mother looked up sharply.
“I don’t have time for jokes, sweetie.”
“It isn’t a joke, there is really grass! There’s a crack, too, and the grass is growing in it.” He nodded, wide eyed, in emphasis, waiting for his mother to spring into action. “In the crack.” She carefully set down her tools and rose, slowly, from her seat, reaching out for his hand.
“Lets go see.”
He led her through the tiny house and out the back where he’d only moments before abandoned the chalk images he’d been drawing of his friends fearlessly battling a pride of lions. He’d never seen a real one, but there were images in some of the picture books he’d seen at school which were based on descriptions of harvesters and soldiers who protected the city. He’d started the previous evening, capturing another image in the longstanding saga of the Defenders played out that afternoon. Now he dragged his mother across the concrete canvas without a spare thought for the integrity of his artistic efforts. Her forehead pinched into a familiar expression of nervous worry, and she squeezed his hand more tightly.
“Keep away from it, Mason.”
It was just a small intrusion – fewer blades of green than he could count on both hands. The crack itself was tiny, but everyone knew just how insidious the Green could be. Never touch the earth. Keep off the grass. The Green hated humanity, and the tricks in its arsenal were more than anyone could have recorded in a lifetime.
“Yes mum.” He looked searchingly into her face, hoping to see anything other than nervous fear. She smile reassuringly, but didn’t loosen her grip.
“I’ll have the sprayers take care of it. You go play inside.”
Mason related the incident to his friends the next day, and the tale spread quickly through the other children. Some of the older ones had seen grass before, and even some weeds, that had forced ways through the weak points in decaying pavement along some of the neighborhood’s older streets. They were quicker to dismiss the excitement of the younger crowd, playing up their own worldliness to cement their positions in local cliques. Still, Mason’s tale made him a celebrity among his own peers, and some of his closer friends, eager to test their resolve in the face of this minor manifestation of human kind’s great enemy, asked if they could come and see the crack.
“Mum won’t let me in the yard until the sprayers come.”
“We’ll have to sneak out and meet in secret,” Saren glared around the little group, daring any to rat out their plans and promising a beating to any who considered it. Some of the less adventurous hangers on shifted uneasily, and a couple who had been wavering on the fringes of the group slunk off to find less dangerous prospects for entertainment. “By the fountain,” she continued solemnly, “at moonrise.”
“‘Should we bring anything?” Lucas looked between Saren, their usual ringleader, and Mason. “Like, a weapon?”
Mason opened his mouth, but Saren beat him to the punch. “It’s just grass, stupid. What are you going to do, stab it to death?”
Lucas stuck to his guns. “What if it isn’t *just* grass though?”
The debate escalated when another girl asked when (and what) moonrise was, precisely. Words led to pushing, and pushing brought the attention of teachers who broke up the unruly conspirators before any plans could be finalized. Mason managed to arrange to meet at Lucas’s parents’ store that afternoon when they were let out of their classes. It was an arrangement that generally suited both families – Mason helped Lucas with work-related chores in return for somewhat closer adult supervision than his mother could provide from her sequestered workroom.
The boys made their own plans. They would meet by the fountain at midnight – it might not sound as mysterious as moonrise, but it was surely less confusing. If they had a chance they could spread the word to their other friends that evening. Mason, at least, wouldn’t be allowed to play in his own yard unless the sprayers had come around to dispatch the biological intrusion with their harsh smelling chemicals. If they had, the whole expedition would be pointless: no one wanted to sneak out of their homes in the middle of the night and risk a beating to see dead grass. The boys were restocking the shelves in the store front and had just resumed the debate about the usefulness of weaponry when Mason felt the press of cold metal on shoulder.
“What are you two lads whispering about over here now?”
Both boys broke out in to big grins – here was just the person to resolve the question!
“Adrian!” Lucas blurted. “Mason has grass in his yard! I want to go see if but I think I should have a weapon, is that right?”
The tall harvester frowned, bending down to reach their level. His bright black hair contrasted deeply with the death pallor of his skin and the strips of thin white cloth that covered most of his body from the neck down. Adrian never wore a shirt as his shroud covered him decently enough, but had thick leather pants, died black, and thick soled boots that kept him that much further off the ground during his ventures into the Green. He was a real Citizen of Mirth – not just someone who lived there, but one who’d received the Kiss of Life from the Queen. The rumor was that he had died in an airship crash, and that it had partly fused his flesh to the armour he’d been wearing. His metal hand and the steel plate that covered the opposite shoulder were the best support of the theory, but neither boy speculated too much. He’d been a frequent visitor to their neighborhood since before either of them could recall, and counted him an excellent source for new stories of adventure and exploration beyond the safety of the city’s outer walls.
Mason cut in with a more pressing question before Adrian had a chance to reply. “If the harvesters are back, does that mean there’s going to be meat tonight?”
“There’ll be meat for some, son, same as always.” He sighed. The lines for food brought in from outside were long, and there were often shortages even in Mirth where the harvesters were headquartered. Only Citizens could be harvesters – the Green did not react to their presence the way it did the living, and they could venture out in relative safety. “I heard about your grass problem. Just leave it alone, let the sprayers take care of it.” The boys looked at each other dubiously. “No, really – it isn’t that much to look at, is it Mason?”
“Well…” There hadn’t really been that much of it. A few greenish spears sticking out their heads – like a line of advanced scouts. But was it that interesting?
“You’re only saying that because you see grass, like every day,” Lucas countered. “And trees, even. And dangerous animals! Of course it is boring to you. But there’s grass in our neighborhood! Right in his yard!”
“Yeah!” It was an invasion, no matter how small. “Mum and I have to live there. And what if the sprayers don’t come right away? And how can we grow up and be Defenders of the Walls if we can’t even look at some grass?”
“I don’t think your mother wants you to go grow up and fight the Green, son.”
“That’s just ‘cause she’s scared! We’re not scared, are we, Lucas?”
“No!” His friend crossed his arms and set his jaw to demonstrate his resolve, and Mason copied him. The harvester considered them both for a moment and, no doubt seeing the futility of standing against their firm determination, smiled.
“Well, that’s some spirit there, boys. You wanna fight the Green, huh?” They both nodded emphatically. “Well then I’ll tell you a secret.” Adrian lifted a metal finger to the side of his nose. “Grass ain’t so bad. It’ll spread, and if there’s enough of it, the Green can turn it into something worse, but you don’t have to worry about that yet. Weeds are worse because if they flower, they can spread their seeds further, or sometimes they can poison the air and spread diseases. But if you wanna try and kill the grass, well,” he glanced around and then dropped his voice, “you could piss on it.”
“Really?” Mason’s eyes widened at the revelation.
“It can’t hurt. I’ve seen it outside, places where animals have been fighting over territory – the grass turns all yellow and dead. Lots of airship travelers piss over the side, too, just in case they can do a little damage.” The boys shared looks of amazement, considering new plans for their midnight excursion. Adrian straightened up and winked down at them. “Now, you two best be getting back to work.”
There was meat for dinner that night, and Mason chewed carefully, drawing strength for his mission from the flesh of his enemy, just like a real Defender of the Wall might do. He asked his mother, but the sprayers hadn’t come that afternoon. Tomorrow, she told him, but Mason hoped that by tomorrow they wouldn’t be needed at all.
It was never hard for him to sneak out, even though he slept in the same room as his mother. She was always so tired from working late into the evening that she fell right to sleep and hardly even tossed and turned at all. His only worry was that he might be late – sometimes she worked almost until midnight. Tonight he was lucky, as she was sleeping soundly by eleven thirty. He dressed in his darkest clothing, befitting of a secret attack, and scrambled out a window and down the decaying pastel yellow painted stonework. He’d already taken the key to the rear gate so that they wouldn’t have to come back through the house.
The fountain was two blocks away, and when he arrived he found not only Lucas, but Saren as well.
“I thought I was going to have to wait all night for you scaredycats,” she whispered challengingly. “I’ve been here since *moonrise*.”
Lucas looked at him apologetically, but Mason just shrugged. Who could understand girls? Especially girls like Saren. She wasn’t even dressed right, but still in the pale grey knee-length jumper she’d worn to school. Lucas even had a black shirt wrapped around his head, covering his sandy blond hair – a nice touch.
“I tried to tell her that she can’t fight the grass with us on account of she’s a girl, but she just hit me.” Lucas rubbed his shoulder for emphasis. Saren pouted crossly.
“You think girls can’t pee on grass? Boys are so dumb!”
Mason had to admit that the prospect was baffling, but he was a bit curious. Girls just didn’t have the right equipment – but there was no telling her that. “Well… she can at least come along and watch...”
This time Lucas punched him in the shoulder. “What! No she can’t!”
“Ow! Be quiet! I didn’t mean *watch* watch. Just, you know, see the grass.”
“I’ll show you just what I can do, Mason, if you don’t stop talking like I do it! Maybe I’ll even let you watch, huh, or are you too scared?”
Lucas looked suitably daunted, providing little support when Mason glanced his way. “Lets just go before someone hears us out here, okay? And be quiet – if we wake up mum she’ll tan my hide and I’ll never leave the house again.”
Falling into a cautious if uneasy silence, the trio proceeded quietly around the row of townhouses to the fenced in yard behind. Mason had to concede, though grudgingly, that Saren stood out a little less starkly against Bonetown’s moonwashed pastels. After listening closely at the gate, Mason opened the back gate with the key he’d pilfered. It swung silently inwards on its hinges. They peered into their familiar playspace, taking in the scene before entering. Sticks of coloured chalk still littered the ground around Mason’s unfinished graffiti, and afternoon winds had introduced some street litter into the corners of the enclosure. The little table and bench where Mason and his mother sometimes dined in nicer weather sat in their accustomed places near the back of the house. A broom and other props rested against the table where the trio had last abandoned them after their games.
“It’s over here,” Mason whispered, the first to venture forward. It was hard to see in the dark shadows cast by the courtyard walls, but Lucas produced a small gas lamp, probably ‘borrowed’ off the shelves of his parents’ store. Once the gate was closed, they only had to risk being noticed by any of the townhouse’s soundly sleeping occupants. Mason led his friends over to his right, keeping a close eye out incase he should accidentally step on the crack.
The lamplight created eerie shadows, making the crevice seem like a tiny bottomless pit. The grass, which Mason swore was taller, stretched black tendrils away from the adventurers, as though it were trying to escape into the night. Lucas set the lamp down, and the three crowded and crouched around the crevice, surrounding the enemy.
“There isn’t very much of it.” Saren sounded disappointed.
“Well, good!” Lucas rejoined, giving her a look suggesting that she might want to get her head examined.
“There’s more than there was,” Mason breathed cautiously, “and it’s higher.” The taller blades towered brazenly above the crack, and had bolstered their presence with double their number of smaller shoots. They watched it for another minute, but the grass remained static. Mason stood, fumbling with the ties on his shorts. “I’m gonna go first. It’s my yard.”
Lucas pulled Saren away, hovering at the edge of the ring of light. “You can’t *watch*, okay?”
“Then how will we know if he does it?”
“We’ll hear it, okay? And it will be wet, I guess.”
Mason let them bicker. It might have even been better to have witnesses, but Lucas was probably going to be a baby about it and he didn’t want to make a scene and wake up his mum. Besides which, he was finding it a little difficult to let himself go. He tried thinking about fountains, and rain, and wished he’d had a big drink of water before he’d gone to join the other two. In the end, he made himself relax, and imagined he was a brave warrior, unintimidated by the enemy hoards, and that he alone had the secret weapon, if only he dared unleash it… He was rewarded with a thin but steady stream of urine which he quickly directed into the narrow crack, soaking the green blades as thoroughly as he could.
Lucas was next – before he lost his nerve – and then Saren. She had to take off her knickers (a prospect fascinating on its own), and crouched carefully above the crevice. Both boys held their breath, worried that she might lose her balance or that the Green might have some way of exploiting her precarious precaution. The others both had trouble going too, and Saren hopped away quickly when she was done, wide-eyed and a little pale. The grass had been beaten flat against the pavement by the soaking they’d given it – it certainly looked defeated. The friends sealed their secret with spit and a handshake, and Mason carefully locked the gate after the others as they withdrew.
They only talked about it in hushed whispers the next day at school, though Mason still enjoyed some general celebrity among his other friends. When he got home, his mother told me that a sprayer had come by, but said that the grass seemed to have died off on its own. It seemed that was that. She’d arranged for someone to come by in the next few days to seal off the pavement. Mason was allowed back out in the yard with admonishment to keep away from the crack. He played at the store, and worked on his picture after dinner. The trio celebrated their victory with some candy they purchased with pooled funds, and sweetened water they pretended was liquor.
Two days later it had rained, and no one had yet come to fix the yard. It had been overcast before Mason had left for school, and began pouring later in the morning. It cleared up quickly, the day turning scorching hot so that by the time he hurried home there were hardly any puddles to be found along the way. He’d had a hard time concentrating on his lessons, too worried that the rain might bring back the grass after it washed away all traces of the trio’s secret chemical war. After he mentioned his fears to the others, and they’d agreed on another midnight rendezvous, just in case. If nothing else, it would serve to cement their victory.
His mother was at work in her shop when she arrived, and looked up from her sanding bench with some surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the store, sweetie?”
“I’m going, mum.” Just as soon as he checked the yard. “But Lucas wants to borrow my chalks and I said I would bring them over.”
“Alright, you boys have fun. Dinner might be late tonight, I need to finish this commission for tomorrow, so you don’t need to hurry back.” She smiled, and bent over her work.
“Did they come and fix the yard yet?”
“No, dear – the men came by but it was raining too hard. It will be fixed tomorrow.”
Mason left her workshop and headed out back. He would be lucky if his chalks weren’t ruined, since he had never put them away properly, but he wasn’t worrying about them too much. Lucas had his own – they were just an excuse. He walked right past them, heading to the corner where the crack stretched innocuously. The grass was still dead, but there was something in its place.
It was a weed, that was clear, but he couldn’t remember seeing any pictures of its kind. It had a single leaf, a serrated spade stretching out from a flimsy stalk supporting a bulbous green head. Mason stepped back, remembering what Adrian had said. The bud was tinged with purple at the tip and along the scored lines which threatened to bloom open and spread its infection further through the city.
What should he do? He couldn’t leave it, and he certainly couldn’t imagine Saren squatting over it. The sprayers certainly wouldn’t be around before it was too late. Maybe if he could find Adrian… But the harvester didn’t live nearby as far as he knew, he just visited a lot. And what would he do? Probably just laugh and ruffle Mason’s hair and just rip it out of the ground by its roots. Well, Mason could do that, surely – the last part. He didn’t want anyone to laugh at him for being scared of a weed, the way he could imagine the older kids at school might if they heard. No – he’d already shown he could fight the Green on his own turf, and he wasn’t going to stop now!
He stepped up to the crack, screwing up his courage. He grabbed the stalk and pulled – it didn’t come up by the roots at all, but snapped off in his hand, oozing a milky sweet-smelling fluid. And that was all. He stared the weed, hanging limp and lifeless in his fist. It was a vanquished foe, a harmless war trophy. He could show the others later, after they’d made sure to eradicate any other invading agents of the Green. But for now, he had someone else to impress.
“Muuuum!” Mason raced back through the house, tightening his grip around the plant. He could hear a reply from the workshop, but was too excited to listen to her exact words, stopping only at the threshold. “Look what I did!”
His mother’s face clouded with horror as he raised the dead plant for her inspection. She was on her feet in seconds, her project knocked carelessly to the ground. “Mason!”
“I killed it, mum,” he started to reassure her, but her shock drew his attention back to the not so helpless victim of his defensive strike. The bud had turned back and swollen, almost floating above his hand. The liquid that dripped onto his wrist had likewise putrefied in the short jaunt across the pavement and through the house. The foul thing strained against its skin even as he released it, turning to throw it out away from the workshop. The strain was too much, and it burst open in a burning cloud of sweet smelling decay. It filled his lungs and poisoned his air, and as he fell he turned back to see his mother, frozen by her fear. He could scarcely register her scream as the world darkened around him and extinguished.
His head felt fuzzy when he woke, and his body heavy. Mason could hear his mother’s voice somewhere beyond him. She’d been crying, or maybe still was.
“I can’t go through this again, Adrian. I can’t. I can’t bear it.”
“But he’s not gone, Freya. He needs you. You’re his mother.”
“My son… I need my son to grow up. To live. Not to remind me, every day… He needs *you* now. Take care of him.” What did she mean? “Let me go, Adrian. Please.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mason tried to sit up and struggled to open his eyes. He didn’t understand what was going on, and everything still felt sluggish. His mouth was dry, and his skin felt tight and itchy. The weed. Mason remembered choking. The room swam in to focus, and he brought a hand up to his face. It was covered in thin strips of stiff white cloth. He touched his face, feeling fabric pressing against his cheek as well. Where was his mother? Was she coming to him? The room was unfamiliar, much fancier than home. The thick metal door seemed to swing open just as his eyes fixed on it, but it was not his mother who stepped inside.
He almost didn’t recognize the harvester. His face was the same, with the plate on his shoulder and the metal hand, but now Mason could see where these met the scarred flesh of his chest and arm. Jagged lines of stitching crossed his torso joining patches of mismatched skin, some with old but angry burns or smaller pieces of embedded shrapnel.
He took Mason’s hands, looking over the wrapping. He didn’t say anything at first, and neither did Mason – he was too confused, and his voice didn’t seem to want to work right.
“I’m sorry, son,” the older man said eventually, meeting Mason’s eyes. Adrian’s were dark and sad. “You’re a brave kid. You’re going to come stay with me for a while, okay?”
Mason wanted ask for his mum, but the words still wouldn’t come out. His jaw was wrapped shut – his whole face below the eyes. Adrian sat down on the little bed, and wrapped an arm around him, sensing his distress. “You’re going to be okay,” he promised. “Don’t be scared.”
He nodded, leaning into the harvester. But his mother wasn’t coming for him, and Mason was more terrified of that than anything else.
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The only bit I thought could use any work was "They peered peering".
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I'll fix that, too, if i can find it :o
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