He watches and awaits by the front door, listening as footsteps go up and down the street. He growls as he hears the mailman approach and a shuffling of papers. The letter flap is fluttering and it’s raining inside the house. He jumps, catching white and brown papers which he rips and throws about. He snatches the last few out of a hand he can’t see and tears the letters up.
Afterwards, he sits, tail wagging and tongue lolling, his task of defending his home and family complete.
There was just something about The Eden Project in Cornwall that spoke my soul. Breathing in the warm flower scented air, I watched a school group going by. The children were all chatting loudly whilst their teachers and helpers were trying to point out things to them.
One boy pulled a flower up, glee on his face. A female teacher swooped down behind him and even though I couldn’t hear them the child was clearly being told off. The boy placed the flower back and the teacher marched him off with the tail end of the group.
I shook my head. How do teachers cope?
I paused in my water hosing of the bushes and went to see if anything could be done to save the poor flower. Searching through the bedding boarder, I found it and saw that it had been plucked from the stem. Nestling it against the greenery, I went back to watering.
Gift wasn’t sure how long the town had been abandoned as the records only went back fifty years. Crunching glass and fallen plaster under her boots, she entered what had once been a living room.
Looking through the breathing mask’s visor, she spotted the white flowering plant on the window sill. Smiling, she walked over and picked the plant pot up gingerly.
You’re safe now, she thought, clutching the plant, but you’ve got a big job ahead, flower.
Gift stepped outside and back into the war torn grey landscape. Hurrying towards the safety of the underground city, she hoped that one day she would be able to see the green surface world that she only knew from the legends.