Blade Runner - by Fleur Lind

A short story from Warwick writer Fleur Lind

A mower's life. Picture: FILE

Blade Runner by Fleur Lind

"ARE you serious?" I gawp wide eyed at the sight before me.

"You are kidding me, right?!" My face is forlorn as I feel my owners firm grip as she clenches my lever and adjusts the height of my blades.

She must be reading my mind as I scream through the dull roar of my idling engine.

"It's grown a bit." she says calmly as she acknowledges the growth of the job at hand.

"A BIT??!!" I wail, "It's a jungle out there!"

With that she takes control and revs me up to full throttle, lowering my blades which are ready but unwilling to meet the freshly grown grass that has surged ahead from it's very neatly cut crop of just a week ago.

What is she feeding it to make it grow so fast?

I feel completely helpless as my blades lower without my consent onto the cool soft green grass. It's quite spongy like a carpet, but that doesn't inspire me to want to slice through it any more than want to drink home brand engine oil. That stuff always gives me a bad after taste, not to mention plenty of gas.

I roar into full acceleration which should give me a feeling of exhilaration and power, dominance and superiority, but it doesn't.

Not at all. My wheels begin to move, and my pace picks up as I launch face first into the thick of it. Chomping and slicing, mulching and spitting out the green bilge into my catcher.

I am a lawnmower, and I'm looking for a new job.

I live in a small but comfortable garden shed with the whipper-snipper who's affectionately known as 'Slick'. We also bunk in with the weed spray, car wash and rose food. We all get along well; Slick and I often compare notes on our nemesis - the lawn.

Of course, the reason for the lawns ridiculous growth is obvious and another one of my pet hates - Storm season.

When it storms, I slink down pushing myself back as far against the shed wall as I can go. My handle is folded down over my body, but offers little comfort or protection from the wild weather outside. The rain lashes the exterior of our shed with a vengeance and the lightning lights up the interior like night-lights over a sports field. I should thank my lucky stars I don't have to mow one of those!

All the while as the wild weather rages, the grass is burping with complete contentment as it drinks in the deluge. My fears of the storm turn to dread as I think of the task ahead when I'm summoned to mow it again. Slick told me a mower is still needed at the Bowls Club. I might apply. I'm all for less stress, short grass and high scores!

Fleur Lind