How To Dominate Your Neighbor's Lawn
How To Dominate Your Neighbor's Lawn
- How To Dominate Your Neighbor's Lawn -
The pleasure I feel in burning down a forest and smothering its ashes in concrete is hard to explain. The thrill I get out of meticulously caring for the lawn I grow on top of that is even harder to pin down. Every few days, I find myself out in my front yard with a measuring stick and my lawn equipment, ready to conquer my neighborhood.
"Hiya, Roseluck!"
And like clockwork, Lyra poked her gormless face over my fence and tried her best to ruin my day.
"Roseluck?"
Some part deep inside of me hoped that if I didn't make eye contact, she'd lose interest and leave. I tried not to acknowledge her, to make it known just how little I really think of her. No such luck. She just stood there, watching me prep my lawnmower as if I were a world renowned artist painting her next masterpiece.
"Hello, Lyra," I said, finally acknowledging her.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
"Not really."
"The sun's out and you're out here. What's not to like?"
I nodded back at the blank spot where my cutie mark should've been.
"I'm sure Twilight Sparkle is taking care of that right now. Have some faith!"
I didn't bother responding. There was a long string of silence before she spoke up again.
"So what're you doing?"
"Mowing my lawn."
"Oh..."
Another brief pause before she grated on my ears with her shrill voice again.
"Mind if I come over?"
"I'm about to mow my lawn."
"Doesn't mean I can't come over and help."
"I prefer to mow alone."
I could see Lyra pouting from the corner of my eye. I didn't bother looking at her, instead waiting for her to finish ogling me. It took a few minutes, but eventually the she-demon grew bored and left.
I looked around for a few moments, making sure that she wasn't around to see me. Pulling a ruler out from my bag of equipment, I trotted over to the fence post that established the border between my property and hers. A quick check, and I could tell that her yard was pushing two and half inches in height. I quickly ran the numbers through my head before deciding that three and a half inches on mine would do nicely.
I primed my lawnmower, making sure there was a bit of gas in it before starting it. I smiled as the engine revved and started to gobble its fuel supply. The acrid smell of gasoline and the occasional put put of its engine sputtering was a delight to me even on the worst day.
The lawn had it coming.
With a smile, I dove headlong into my lawn, chewing through thick cuds of grass as I moved my lawnmower back and forth in perfect swaths. I'd spent a lot of time learning how to create the perfect lawn stripes, and I made sure to reinforce this fact by going over my border with Lyra several times just to make sure that the dark stripe would contrast against our fence.
All told, it only took me about twenty minutes to mow the entire front lawn. Another fifteen minutes of edging and some weeding in my flower bed, and my yard looked amazing. A quick glance at the dumpster fire that was Lyra's lawn made it clear that I'd won.
- I -
Afternoon was turning into evening as I came home from the market. My saddlebags were stuffed full of the coming week's groceries, a plethora of healthy greens and fresh fruits making up the bulk of my diet. I was ready to lie back in my lawnchair with a glass of rosé wine and--
The sound of a lawnmower eating a dirt clod broke my train of thought. The distinct crack of that same lawnmower smacking headfirst into something solid made me rush towards my house.
"No... no no no no no!" I shouted.
Standing there in front of me with that same stupid look on her face, Lyra leaned against her lawnmower while checking the fence for any damage she might've inflicted on it. I looked out in abject horror at the abomination of a front lawn she'd made of my masterpiece.
"What are you doing?!"
Lyra looked up in surprise. Her eyes drifted back and forth before settling on me.
"Hiya, Roseluck!" she said, killing the engine to her mower before trotting over to me. "I just noticed that your lawn was still a bit tall after you mowed it and decided to give it a little trim." She looked back over her shoulder. "Your fence is fine. I didn't bump into it too hard."
I stared at what was left of my lawn. The beautiful stripes I'd so carefully maintained were gone. Not that there weren't stripes, mind you, but these were deep ruts of dirt dug up by the edge of her mower's blades. She'd mowed too close to the ground and it showed.
Without a second thought, I trotted over to my garage, pulled it open, and walked over to my tool chest. I dropped my saddlebags by my worktable and reached for the nearest ruler before trotting out to the front of my lawn. Even as I made my way over to our mutual fencepost and made my measurements, I knew what had happened.
"Less than an inch," I said. I scowled at Lyra. "My lawn will die from it being that short, you gormless twat."
"Look, Rosie, I didn't--"
"Don't you Rosie me!" I said, getting in her face. "I put a lot of care into that lawn and you just had to come over here uninvited and tear it apart! How dare you!"
"I'm n-not sure--"
"Not sure? Not sure?! You're an absolute moron! Get off my lawn!"
"Ro--"
"Now!"
Lyra stared at me for a moment, opening her mouth as if to say something else. Instead, she closed it, turned around for her lawnmower, and dislodged it from the side of my fence. I watched her go, my eyes trailing her all the way back to her garage. She gave me one last look before heading inside.
- II -
Petty ponies get mad when they're wronged. I'm not petty, and I don't get mad. I get even.
The glass of wine resting on my inn table was almost empty as I paced around my living room. If it were any other time, I'd be careful to change my pacing pattern so as not to wear an uneven pattern into my carpet, but I wasn't thinking rationally enough for that line of thought.
"That cur," I muttered to myself. "That minx. I bet she did that on purpose."
"It's not your fault, you know."
"I know that!" I snapped. The room was quiet for several moments before I spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Francis, but you haven't had to deal with this mare."
"Don't worry about it."
On the far side of my living room, next to several beautifully framed photographs of my front lawn, sometimes with me in them and other times without, stood a small shrine. Tallow candles surrounded a marble pedestal, giving off a pleasant scent. The soft glow of the candles lent that corner of the room a reverent atmosphere.
Of course, no shrine was complete without its object of adoration. Sitting there atop the pedestal with a plush, velvet pillow underneath it sat my pride and joy. Francis the lawnmower was as stunning as the day I'd bought him.
"Oh Francis, whatever will I do?" I asked.
"You cannot allow this slight to go unpunished. There are two roads in front of you, and you can only take one," Francis said. Even though he didn't have eyes, I could tell that he was watching me. "You can take the cowardly approach. You can pour salt on her lawn and laugh as it dies and refuses to grow back in any function. She's too much of a nitwit to think about checking the soil for salt."
"Not a bad idea," I said. "What's the alternative?"
I couldn't see his smile. Ultimately, he was a lawnmower and had no way to do so. Even still, it felt like a wicked grin was beginning to split his face in two.
"There are old arts, ancient and forgotten. Wicked ways made by wicked ponies to punish other wicked ponies, all bound in a few old tomes of knowledge. You know the book of which I speak."
"The Book of Mortal Tears?"
"That's the one. You know where to find it."
"But Francis, I'm not a unicorn."
"And Lyra is." Francis continued to sit motionless on his pedestal. "But a great mage she is not. And with Tirek on the loose, it doesn't matter that she is one. Besides, there are better alternatives to having a horn."
"Like what?"
Lawnmowers can't express their feelings on faces that don't exist. As I listened to my lawnmower's plan, I really wished they could.
- III -
The air crackled with arcane energy as I stirred the mix. While I wasn't in possession of a traditional cauldron, my trusty kitchen frying pan could suffice. Arcs of light spewed out from the top as I continued to fry my salvation.
"This is it, Francis," I said. My dark work was finally finished.
"Very good," Francis said. "We'll need that for the next step."
There was no point in keeping Francis confined to his pedestal while I worked. Instead, he rested on one of the kitchen chairs, watching over my work. It was both comforting and a little bit unnerving.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready," I said.
With a deep breath, I pulled the pan off the stove and carried it into the living room. The steel itself was hot, but the rubber grip kept my mouth from burning at its touch. I walked into the middle of the room where a pile of newspapers sat underneath sheets of plywood. Etched into that plywood were numerous symbols, glyphs of a forgotten language. They were dark, wicked scratches, something more akin to what somepony trying to escape a prison would scratch into their prison walls than the scrawlings of a middle class pony.
I poured the solution onto plywood, watching as it ran down the grooves and lines to fill ever crevice I'd made. The miasma wafting off from the elixir was intoxicating, and I almost dropped the pan in the process of smelling it.
A deep rumble passed around the wood as I trotted back into the kitchen to set the pan down. By the time I'd wheeled Francis into the living room, the wood was already starting to shift.
"Yes," Francis exclaimed. "Yes!"
"Oh my..."
The wood shot up from the floor, flying around in pieces as it formed itself into its proper shape. I stood back in awe as the wood creaked and groaned and splinters shot out every which way. Dark arcane light emanated from it as it all came together. After several seconds of this, the golem finally finished its own construction.
"I can taste his innocence," Francis said.
"He doesn't even have a name yet."
"Golems are unthinking, unfeeling automatons, Roseluck. They don't need names." Francis paused. "Maybe a code, though. Like a three digit number."
"Zero sixty-nine."
"Why that particular number?"
"I don't know," I said. "It just feels right. Like some governing force in the universe compels me to name him that."
"Then that is his true name. Feel free to use it."
And just like that, the plan went into full motion.
- IV -
Well, maybe not a plan per se. More of a vague impression.
"Ahh! Run!"
069 was wrecking havoc in Lyra's yard. The daisies were in orbit. Her potted plants were scattered every which way, and every inch of turf in her lawn had been upended by my monstrous creation.
For some reason, none of the police were showing up.
"Ahahaha! Burn their very souls!"
For my part, I enjoyed the spectacle. I'd never felt so alive in my life. Something about destroying your enemy's world and watching them scramble from place to place at your beck and call delighted me.
"Roseluck, help me!"
It didn't hurt that my enemy was currently within my eyesight. I sat in my lawnchair, sipping my wine as I watched the events unfold. Even with my cutie mark gone and everyone's magic being absent, alchemy was still a good workaround.
After watching Lyra struggle to salvage what was left her lawn from the chaos of my golem, I couldn't take it anymore. I lost myself to the frenzy around me, standing up on my lawnchair and throwing every profanity I knew Lyra's way. I laughed, and I laughed hard.
That was when my house exploded.
The ground underneath me shook before a giant, crystal spire shot straight out of the ground. My house and everything in it was utterly destroyed in the process, and I watched in horror as a branch of the crystal picked me up and lifted me high into the air. Finally, after ascending countless stories, the crystal stopped growing.
I felt something burning on my flanks before looking back to find my cutie mark where it belonged. As I looked down at the tattered remains of my yard and the deceased corpse of my dear friend Francis, I couldn't help but groan.
"Sparkle!"
- Fin -
Author's Note
There's not enough coffee in the world for this shit.
