The house was mint green. The 2014 Honda was green, as was the tree out front with which I had intentions of hanging a tire swing from one of its branches many seasons ago. green as it was, it was not as green as the grass out front, that had grown long enough to tickle the children’s shins as they played in it. I took the mower out, a brand new mower with a shiny red cover on top. I began mowing. Tommy, the smallest of the children, came outside. I turned the mower off and picked him up, spinning him around. My daughter came running out soon afterwards, dancing rhythmically to a beat she had made up in her head, that of class and elegance. She waved towards our home security camera, as she always did. She dreamed of becoming an actress, and the people at the security company were her first audience. I waved them back inside with a stern smile, and began mowing again. Afterwards, the air smelled fresh, and I absorbed it all. I refilled the mower, put it back in the garage, and headed inside.

Time passed. The house was a faded mint green. The Honda had turned a more dusty green. The trees leaves were turning all sorts of vibrant colors. The grass was green. I brought out the mower, which had now been caked with dirt and emitted a strong smell of gasoline. I finished the lawn, took a breath of the new fresh air, then put the mower away.

Time passed. The houses paint had started to flake. The Honda sometimes didn’t start, especially during the winter. The leaves had a green tint. I took my battle scarred mower out. I finished the lawn, took a breath of air, put the mower away.

Time passed. I repainted the house a new green color. The family saved for a nice green Subaru van. The leaves had fallen all over the yard. I had picked them up before, but they were back. I picked them up, then got the mower. The grass started taunting me. All of this time, it said, and it still grows. I cut it all the time, and it grows back. It grows. It grows. The grass laughed at me, the grass owned me. The grass laughed as I cut it, saying it felt like being tickled. I began cursing at the grass, but quietly because i did not want the kids to hear, even though i knew they wouldn’t hear me. The grass laughed. The grass grew. I was on a hamster wheel, my only mission to cut the grass. I was here to cut the grass. I was controlled by it. The grass laughed. I told it to stop. It laughed harder, until mildew rose from its seed of laughter. I threw my mower into the street. I heard a fabric rip. I turned around, and saw what appeared to be a rip in my street, following up to my neighbors house. I ran up to it and punched it. Another hole. Everything started to seem very faint, as if it were portrayed on a green screen. I turned around. I saw the security camera, and wondered who was watching.