Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Chores

He watched another few leaves drift down. "Like ticks dropping off a dog," he grumbled. His rake stabbed viciously at the ground. It caught on something.

"What now?" he moaned. He lifted the rake, shedding leaves.

The tines looked... chewed.

There was a rustling behind him. He glanced around, but nobody was there. He looked back in time to see the end of the rake fall off, the wood splintered and gnawed. The leaves still clutched the handle. They moved towards his hands.

Something tugged at his leg.

"Such a nice, neat leaf-pile!" she purred, some time later. It rustled.

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