White Grass

The Words:

Clock, Car, Pole, Horse, Fence, Piston, Rifle, Saw, Hockey, Paint, Bank

**

The paint slopped and there was nothing he could do about it. He expected to hear her wail from her window. Mrs. Murdok with her century old knees would have seen it all. He waited a moment with his eyes scrunched tight. No sound. Slowly coming down the ladder which he had dared to balance against the pole, he balanced the can and the saw meticulously, wondering less this time about the hockey game he was missing.

Why hadn't she yelled?

Making a note to oil the creaking hinges a long with the piston of her car, he mumbled as his back snapped. The word "old" floated in front of him and he brushed it away. He was still writing a theses. Winding the grandfather clock on his way up the stairs, he wondered if she had fallen again.

But why wasn't she yelling?

If Mrs. Murdok was a horse, she'd be the frisky one who would jump fences even if she didn't know how. A rifle pointed at her would make her laugh, and no one at the bank argued with her demands. He chuckled to himself, remembering how those tie adorned gentlemen had flinched at her waving cane.

He stopped halfway up. No sound.

He turned around, his his feet matching the pulse. She was gone! Gone! He reached for the phone. He would have to call the ambulance, the police, the--

"Young man, don't you DARE runaway from me! And don't you for a SECOND think that I didn't see that paint stain my grass. You are going to have to clean that, I tell you! Now get your chicken arse back here and help me up!"