The Mysterious Lawn War of America
This is how Sir Heller explained his weird fantasy to me after he was knocked unconscious attempting to catch fish while flying. At the time I was unsure of whether to laugh at such a preposterous dream or to be scared that it might actually come to pass. I will leave it to you to decide on its validity.
When I awoke, I was in a small room in a quaint hotel. The view from the window was of a place I have never visited or even heard of.
The houses were all fashioned to look so similar that one would be hard pressed to know one from the other except for the small numbers on the side facing the street. Even the yards were so similar that they bear no distinction from one another.
Behind my residence was a beautiful pool of the bluest water I have seen in such a small pond. However, the stench makes me question what it’s true purpose is. It smells like a high amount of acid has been added and judging from the rest of my surroundings I am sure nothing benevolent is intended. It would be an impossibility for anything to live in such waters.
It was an endless maze of similarity. One that I am afraid did not rest with the dwellings. Even the occupants were doppelgangers of each other.
It was a most unnatural setting. Nature would never produce things of such similarity except in large shoals of fish and large herds of animals. Both of which are to provide some form of protection from predators. With everything looking so identical it’s hard for a predator to pick out a single target. What are these occupants living in such fear of?
I began to feel a chill coming up my spine.
I have died and by some peculiar jest the Almighty is giving me a glimpse of some hellish nightmare that could not possibly exist in the world He created..
That must be it. God is having a laugh. There is no way a world such as this could possibly exist.
Get it together, Sir. This is not real, only an apparition. It must be Christmas.
Dickens you rascal, your Christmas story has invaded my slumber.
I began to smile and ease into the notion that I was dreaming. Then it all came sputtering to a halt.
To be more precise, a loud thundering noise brought me out of my presumption that I was slumbering and started to waiver on the side of hallucination.
After some hesitation and against my better judgment I quickly ran outside to see what could possibly be making such a commotion.
Then I saw it.
A great behemoth made of iron, bellowing smoke and making an unnerving hellish growl as it came out of the carriage house of the adjacent dwelling. I might have had some reaction to seeing this but I was paralyzed with disbelief.
It came down the concrete slab that came from the carriage house and turned onto the grass.
A man was being towed behind it who looked like he had been attached to some medieval torture apparatus. Maybe it’s a public execution. Then where are the spectators?
Intriguing.
He was sweating, dirty, and had a look of pain and exhaustion on his person. The likes I had not seen since I was a child and saw a man get stuck cleaning out our chimney.It took several hours to free him and when he was freed. . . .
.
I was only a boy, but it was a look I will never forget. And there it is again but with no chimney.
What is this place?
The apparatus to which he was attached was billowing smoke and plant debris and looked as though it would devour him when it was finished with the plant life. My instincts pressed logic to a place from which it could not interfere and I quickly sprang into action.
“Fret not sir, I will release you from that hellish creature of iron.”
I quickly ran across the street and lept to free him.
Once again I was flying and though I would not catch a fish on this venture, I would hit my target. Why can’t I advance towards a fish in this manor and with the same degree of success?
In hindsight perhaps I was too diligent in the amount of force I thought it would require to discharge him from his torturer.
He came free quite easily but seemed to be offended by his release.
“Did he actually prefer his persecution to freedom? What is this place? What has happened to these people?”
He quickly, and almost violently, asked:”What is wrong with you?”
I could not speak, for a moment. And then
“Wrong with . . . me?”
“My dear sir, I have freed you from that iron hellspawn and not a second too soon, either. I think its hunger is insatiable and looking for other sources of fodder. Mainly you!.”
“What are you talking about? I’m just cutting the grass.”
“Why, what has it done?”
“What?. . . It’s too high”
“Too high for what?”
“What? Who are you? Just leave me alone and let me finish the yard!”
“I meant no disrespect.”
My apology for any malpractice I might have done was perhaps in vain. I slowly walked away befuddled by the encounter that had just happened.
This gentleman was doing this on PURPOSE!?
There is no doubt any longer that this place is a joke from Lord on High. People do not behave in this manner. Not one of a sound mind anyway. Perhaps it is some sort of sanatorium of similarity. They have gathered all of those with similar psychosis to one place the purpose of which I am not sure I wish to know.
My resolve may have reached its limits.. What is this place?
He thought the grass was too high. I am quite certain it was still attached to the ground.Surely I am hallucinating. This can't be real. This is just lunacy.
More observations are required.but from a safe distance. I would hate to think their madness is from an unknown contagion.
“ My God I touched one of them! What if .. . .What if I . . . .What if I have it now?”
I need rest. Perhaps when I awake I will be back in the land from whence I came. Please God, let me wake home and among those of sound minds again.
I scuttled back to the room to observe this world of lunacy in private and safety. Who knows what other horrors are waiting here? Who knows what these dreadful smelling pools are for?
It wasn't long before I had the chance to witness more of the inhabitants. Two houses down the same iron beast emerged from another domicile. It was the same as before.
It came out, with gentleman in tow, and wheeled onto the lawn. Moving across it in a set pattern and repeated till it had covered the entire yard. Then the great iron beast was put back into the carriage house after it had devoured most of the grass.
The length of the lawn was identical to the house before. Astonishing. This was eventually repeated by every house on the street. Then it spread to all other streets in this strange labyrinth of likeness.
What madness owns these pseudo-humans?
They seem incapable of rational thought. They simply do exactly what they see the others do, in their identical lawns, in front of their identical dwellings. They do indeed exhibit all the behaviors of a great herd of beasts but I have seen no threat from any predator except the iron beast.
Zebras do not run . . to . . the lions. Yet these occupants .
If it weren't for the frightening thought that this might all be real I would have thought it hysterical. Some kind of comedic performances and the inhabitants were all part of the cast.
A bewildering thought but would perhaps be one of the greatest performances known.. And yet a superior hypothesis to any other I have had yet. I could at least rest easy if I knew they were Shakespearian in what they are presenting. Rather large for a stage though. . . and who, other than I am witness to such a performance?
Maybe it is for the unknown horror they are all in such fear of. I need more examinations before I can render any diagnosis of value
Yes, I must find out more about this shared delusion these inhabitants have. Grass is too high. What does that mean? Grass grows as high as grass grows and is still attached to the ground. What is too high about it? I know the landscape of this surreal acreage is unnatural but to assume the way the plants are growing is wrong is just lunacy.
How do the plants of this land grow WRONG?
And who determines it other than the Almighty?
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There is indeed something sinister in the way the grass is treated in this labyrinth of likeness.
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It only seems to be the grass that is of any concern. They have trees, they have flowers, they have many other plants but none of them are touched except by the occasional child that climbs one of the trees. At least the madness has not set in on the children yet. I hope so. I am not sure I want to form an inquiry about their young.
Newborn snakes are just as dangerous as adults.
What if they are born with this madness?
Keep it together man. Snakes are not malevolent; they behave just as God intended. They are people.
Possibly.
Perhaps Not.
People do not act like this.
But . . .
“Try and stay focused on the matter at hand. The grass.”
What has the grass done to warrant such mistreatment?
My mind has been overwhelmed by the absurdity before me. Too many observations at one time has beguiled me. Maybe I am looking at this from the wrong perspective. The thought of seeing this from theirs makes chills run down my spine though. Are they aware of their derangement?
Later, I will approach some of the inhabitants to acquire more aptitude on this matter. If there is any merit to be had from this lunacy.
I will find out soon.
After a short rest to clear my thoughts of any preconceived notions that might be clouding my judgment I will venture forth into this mysterious place.
Yes, just a short rest and then I will go.
After a brief respite I ventured out into the maze of similarity that was surrounding me to make closer observations of this bizarre land but could find no inhabitants outside their dwellings. They are indeed afraid of something in this place but what I do not know.
The fear that keeps them inside has not set upon the children though. There is a small group of them in one yard playing some form of game that I dare not ask the rules of, but I will try and communicate with them.
As I slowly grew closer and prepared the questions, I would ask in my head the sun began to set and set forth a new scene from this macabre drama. All at once, and without any signaling or communication, they all dispersed and disappeared. The stage was completely cleared of all participants in an instant.
Perhaps I made my assumption that the lunacy had not permeated the children too soon.
I have several hypotheses in the works:
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The children are feral and returned to some primitive domicile before darkness spreads across this land of lunacy.
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They came here as I did, by means unknown, and have become trapped in this labyrinth of likeness.
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They are indeed the children of these adrift inhabitants, and have just not completely succumbed to the madness that inhabits the minds of the adults and simply went home before the unknown horror that comes out after dark could catch them.
I did notice that the conflict being administered on the grass by the adults seems to be of no interest to the younger ones. It even seems to be despised by them. When the iron beast is set loose the children disperse. Perhaps the mistreatment of the young is too vulgar a charge even for the ones who dwell here.
What mysterious shores have I sailed into?
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Presumably somewhere in America. By the manner and colloquialisms, I would have to surmise it is definitely somewhere in America. What HAS happened to the colonists now? And what, pray tell, has the grass done to instill such acrimony in their minds?
How can the grass be too high?
This question mortifies me more than I care to admit.
Perhaps tomorrow I will find the resolution I seek. Maybe then I will find my way out of this bizarre maze of insanity and similarity.
My intellect needs rest to battle the madness of this place. Sleep it is.
Watch over me while I rest Father and guide me to the answers I seek . . . or home,
. . . . preferably home..
I awoke to find the world in a frenzy. All the inhabitants were loading into horseless carriages and leaving their dwellings.
At approximately the exact same time!
It was like the mind of a herd that had sensed a predator near.
They sped away not to be seen again until later that afternoon. Just as they had left, they returned at almost the same time.
There is no way any of this is real. I am still dreaming. People do not act like this. People do not build residences like this. People do not wage war on the grass. People would never make boisterous claims that the grass is too high when it is still attached to the ground.
These are not PEOPLE! They can’t be PEOPLE!
I have heard claims of mass hysteria but believed it to be some form of miscommunication or an observation gone horribly wrong. Yet, all around me, it is happening.
I will inquire more astutely to find the source of the madness that dwells here. I have never recoiled from a challenge yet and I will not shy from this one. Though in hindsight I was wrong about a clever little squirrel. I have seen No squirrels here.
That in itself is another curiosity I think the answer to I will never have.
There are also quite a numerous qualms of the world I either have no interest in solving or lack the aptitude to undertake. I would have put this into that category, if I had believed anything like this could exist in the world. I am still not convinced this is not a mishap in my slumbering consciousness. The Lord will guide me to where He thinks I need to be. Hopefully that place is home . . . .soon.
Tomorrow should be Saturday. I cannot wait to see what madness will assault this little maze of mania then.
The herd of similarity has made me soporific and numbed my senses. I pray I am not succumbing to the madness of this place. Guide me, Good Father and watch over me while I sleep. Give me courage and a sound mind to fight this hysteria on the marrow.
. . or let me wake home again. Preferably the latter, as I am sure you are aware of, Merciful Father.
I woke up on Saturday to find the place still sleeping. No one stirred. No signs of life at all. The sun had been up for quite a while, yet nothing moved. Perhaps the fear and madness of this place ligers longer on the weekends. Quite the opposite of the home I came from. Most of what happens here is the opposite of any sane place I have ever been and a far cry from the savage lands I have visited as well.
I will wait for my opponents in my room. Then when the time is right I shall unload a storm of sanity on this delirium that I know it cannot fight against. The Socratic method of teaching by asking questions might prove useful here. I will open their eyes to truth by making them question the basis for their irrationality.
Brilliant, Sir Heller. Fight the complications of their insanity with quick and simple truth in the form of inquiry. Let them discover the truth on their own. Then perhaps I may return to my home and the life I came from.
For most of the morning I thought of questions that might provoke them to actually think about what they were doing and rehearsed pseudo conversations in my mind. If I could debate with people of sound minds this should be a simple task. Though I have to admit I have no previous experience dealing with persons who are clinically preposterous.
I thought fishing would be a simple task too. I have still not been able to bring in a single one of them. None of us is perfect but this . . . .
I have the courage to perform my tasks as best as I am equipped for, after that it’s up to the Lord Almighty. All I have to do is what He instructs me to do the best I can and hopefully He will take it from there. And then return me to a place of sound minds.
At some point in the afternoon a strange shift in the place happened. And once again it happened all at once and throughout the whole coil of crazy.
Smoke began billowing from the backyards of quite a few of the dwellings.
Since I had not seen this behavior in the insane before my mind quickly jumped to what I thought could be the only explanation:
They have completely lost all sense of place and are burning down their dwellings to further confuse the invisible predator they are all so afraid of.
“I must protect them from THEMSELVES!”
It is at this point I should remind any who might read this that in previous encounters with things that make no rational attempt at logic, I can be prone to make rash decisions.I leap before I look as they say. When the sound minded encounter absurdity in ways of thinking, the results can be . . unexpected. I meant no disrespect in telling them the monkey was smarter than they were. . . . yet.
I have no malice in my intention here either.
In the terrene I came from, things are simple and easy to understand, at least the people are. Fishing might prove to be an elusive endeavor for me but I do understand it and how it is done.
This place is the opposite.
Smoke means fire.
In my world, the moonstruck are not usually allowed things that might harm them or that they could use to harm others. People think and act in ways becoming of people, with a will and mind of their own. To act as a herd of beasts would be unthinkable to a person, yet here . . .
I ran as fast as I could to the first pillar of smoke and quickly ran through the gate. What I saw next stopped me dead in my tracks.
I had never before been witness to such a horror.
One of the inhabitants was pouring some form of petroleum on coals that are already set ablaze. The flames were at least 4 feet high and he seemed to want them to be higher. Fire can be as tall as they can make here but grass has limits. What is this place?
The coals were set in a square metal box on 4 legs and were about waist high. Eventually he decided the fire was high enough and he stopped pouring the petroleum on it and stepped away.
When I realized he was not setting himself or his dwelling ablaze I slowed my gate to a stroll and became the eye opener they all so desperately needed.
“What are you doing?”
“Lighting the grill.”
“To get rid of the evidence?”
“Huh. Just going to cook some burgers.”
“You’re doing this to cook?
“Yeah.”
“What have you been doing to cook the rest of the week?”
“Using the stove.”
“Where is the stove?”
“Inside.”
“They let you have fire inside?”
“What?”
This was not exactly the way I had intended to start a conversation with these inhabitants but since I was here I might as well make an attempt. I am clearly the only sane person in this conversation so it should not be hard.
“You want to stay and eat.”
“You mean food.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Is that a jest?”
“You’re not from here are you?”
“Thank the Heavens No!”
“So, are you staying then?”
“Is it safe?”
“Huh?”
The beast they all live in such aversion to must be something they don’t speak of or do any of them know what it is they live in fear of? No matter.
An epic battle had begun. The madness that has held these people in bondage was about to be thwarted by simple questioning.
I hope this isn’t going to be like fishing.
We began to have some sort of conversation but the language that is spoken here seems to be a diluted form of English. Only the bare basics of language are used. It’s almost primitive. I felt at times as though grunting would be appropriate.
It resembled the communication skills of a primate.
Perhaps this is why the squirrels are so under represented here.
Then I sprang my attack on him.
“Your lawn looks nice.”
“Thanks, I have to cut it again Tuesday though.”
“Why on Tuesday?”
“It usually takes it a week to grow back.”
“How high would it be after 2 weeks?”
“Oh No, it needs to be cut every week or it’ll be too high.”
“Too high for what?”
“The neighbors. And eventually the city.”
“What would happen if the city thought it was too high?”
“I’d get a ticket or they would evict me.”
It was at this point that I realized that this was no separate incident of insanity but one that is actually enforced by these inhabitants' strange legal code.
Sounds Napoleonic.
“How did the city decide what the correct height of grass should be?”
“Nobody knows things like that. I only know what happens if I don’t do what they tell me.”
“You’ve never questioned it or thought to ask who came up with it?”
“Nope. It’s just the way it is.”
“Who told you that?”
“Everybody knows that.”
“But nobody knows who actually came up with it.”
“Well when you put it like that, I guess it does sound a little crazy but it’s the law.”
“Rules are made by people and can be changed by People. Only God's laws are absolute and He already knows we are imperfect. He also made the grass grow to a certain height on its own.”
“God . . . grass . . .What does God have to do with cutting the grass?”
“Exactly.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t have concerns for the ideal setting that you decide your lawn should be held in. I do have concerns for those who deem the appearance of your lawn is of significance to merit the attention of the legislature.”
“I don’t understand half the words you use. You sound like a lawyer.”
“You don’t understand the language that the rules you are governed by are written in but you try to obey them because you are simply told you must? Even though you have no way to actually know if that’s what it’s telling you.”
“They know what it says.”
“When you stand before Jesus are you just going to say they told me to.”
“I haven't thought about it much.”
“You my good sir, . . . .have not thought about much. Luckily God does not hold anyone accountable to laws we are unaware of.”
“You want a beer?”
“You’re allowed libations in your state?”
“Liva -what?”
“Nevermind.”
“Would being asked to leave the herd be a bad thing?”
“I . . . think . . .so”
Ahhh, he is trying to think. Brilliant Sir Heller.
“So, you want that beer?”
“In time, let me ask you a question about the lifeless pools of blue behind the dwellings.”
“The pools.”
Ah, a simple name from simple creatures. It is indeed a pool of water. To keep from using any unnecessary linguistic measures it is just called a pool here. Though a toxic smelling pool of acidity would be more accurate.
“Yes, what do you use them for?”
“Swimming”
“In something that smells that acidic?.”
“Acid . . ic. You mean Chlorine.”
“My God man, that stuff will kill you.”
“It keeps the water blue though.”
“Have you seen the ocean?”
“What?”
“Or any other large body of water. . .?”
“What do you mean?”
“What color is the sky?”
“Blue?”
“Is there chlorine in it?”
“I don’t know”
“What are you really doing with the chlorine?”
“Huh?”
“Is it to decompose the rest of your spirit?”
“I’ll get those beers. You're starting to get a little bit serious and it’s making my head hurt.”
“It’s called thinking.”
“I don’t want to have to do that. We have people for that.”
“The ones who told you how high the grass can be and made you put lethal chemicals into a pool of water and told you to swim in it?.”
“Can we just drink now?”
“Be patient, your mind is experiencing thought processes When the throbbing in your perennial lobe subsides, ask your fellows the same questions.”
“O.K, I think the burgers are done.”
“Do you want me to eat so I’ll stop talking?”
“Will it stop you?”
“Doubtful, and why would you want me to? You’ve started thinking man. You’re on your way to the truth.”
“ I was afraid you would say something like that.”
“God does not give us a spirit of fear but of courage, love, and a sound mind.”
“Let’s just eat now. . . . Please. . . and have a beer. . . . Please.
“Indeed. We must celebrate your liberation from the facade you have been living behind. Well hiding behind would be more accurate.”
“Oh, OK.”
It was a monumental Success! When I left the look of distress on the man’s face could not have made me more pleased.
These inhabitants, while seemingly void of sanity, are at least capable of some thought, at least on their own. In a group they will probably resort back to the herd mentality they seem so accustomed to. But I will take a triumph over platitude no matter how small.
If he does not continue with the questioning of his neighbors I will “teach” them as well, and drop the feather of prudence on them as I have on this fellow.
“Who has the right to decide how tall the grass should be?”
“Who implemented the strange rules and customs of this place?”
“I feel as though I might never have the answers to those questions, but have perhaps made way for a more practical way of seeing and opened the door for the truth.”
Bravo Sir Heller. Not one bruise on you to accomplish it. That’s another victory in itself. People don’t always like having their eyes opened to being wrong. Even if it is to help them and for their own good. I also have the scars to prove I made an attempt at those endeavors and failed as well.
He never said our tasks were to be easy, just that He would carry us through it. Like David versus Goliath.
Fishing too has proven to be more difficult than I first expected. How can I be outsmarted by a fish? Perhaps the Almighty is trying to teach me something about my approach to it.
Tomorrow . . . . . I . . . will . . . .
What is that magnificent light?
“ Are you an Angel of the Lord?”
“No, just me, Fitshugh. Your wife”
“Thank the Heavens! I am HOME again! I have had the most bizarre dream. It was madness.”
“Actually, you were knocked unconscious by that flying contraption you’ve been using to try and catch fish with. We thought we might have lost you this time.”
“Oh . . . yes. About that.”
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