Random 16

One man went to mow, went to mow a meadow; but the mower was broken. He spent several hours dismantling the blasted thing in the hope of a fix, but then the smog descended and it was too late. By the time the grass got cut the whole world had changed.

Two men went to mow, but they found the meadow filled with beehives and were chased away by an angry swarm. The bees were large and merciless and both men were badly stung. Luckily, neither was allergic to the venom.

Three men went to mow, but they stopped off in a pub on the way for a little preliminary refreshment and lost track of the time. When the landlord finally evicted them it was well after dark and mowing was out of the question.

Four men went to mow, but years of environmental mismanagement had caused the local water table to rise and the meadow was now a stinking mire. The more the men struggled to free themselves and each other from the engulfing mud, the deeper it sucked them in. They flailed about in helpless panic, and their unheard cries were pitiful as they sank slowly from sight. By noon there was nothing to show they had ever been there at all.

Five men went to mow, but they stumbled into a fairy ring and none can say what they found within it; or what found them. On a chill spring morning, when mist wreathes the meadow and the sunlight catches it at just the right angle, it is sometimes possible to glimpse those men, pale as phantoms and unmoving in their enchanted prison, their faces rapt with delight; or so folk tell. I have never seen it myself.

Six men went to mow, but this was in the days when wolves still roamed the land: the men were set upon and savaged in the meadow. Only one lived to tell the tale, his body a tortured ruin; and his soul too, perhaps. He died at the next full moon, and some say it was from his injuries; but others heard gunshots that night, and remember the weeping of the man's wife, and wonder what happened to the silver candlesticks her mother gave the couple at their wedding.

Seven men went to mow, but their directions were bad and they arrived at entirely the wrong meadow. They hadn't proceeded very far when the landowner arrived and explained their mistake in no uncertain terms. Then he had them horsewhipped.

Eight men went to mow, but despite mowing from dawn until dusk they had no appreciable impact on the thick vegetation. Perplexed, they whetted their already-keen blades to razor sharpness and redoubled their efforts, grunting and sweating through the twilight and into the night. To no avail. The meadow remained stubbornly overgrown and, at long last, they had to concede defeat. They grumbled and swore all the way home.

Nine men went to mow, squeezed into a battered Volkswagen van along with the tools of their trade. The traffic was terrible all through the outer suburbs, and every time they seemed to be nearing the meadow their way was blocked by a gridlocked gyratory system or a burst water main, with diversions constantly nudging them back in the direction of town. By the time the van was surrounded by armed anti-terrorist police and the men led away in handcuffs they had lost all enthusiasm for the mowing project and really just wanted to go home.

Ten men went to mow, and mow they did, from one end of the meadow to the other, their scythes swinging in perfect unison in the cool morning air. It was all going swimmingly until they happened to cut the single stem of grass that tethers the world to its orbit around the sun. That turned out to be something of a mistake.

And don't even fucking ask about his dog, Spot.
Posted by matt at January 9, 2006 11:29 PM