Mr. Jackson’s been feeling a bit red these days, so today I’m gonna take care of the yard for him!

It’s a perilous job, indeed. There’s all kinds of messy, gross, oily stuff covering the grass. Blegh, the things I do to be a good neighbor…

Knock knock knocking on his pale door, but all I get is a paltry score. He came up to me with the sweetest smile and said:

Ģ̷̢͎̼̙̩̝̩͍̠̗̼͕͙̉̌̒̑͐̈́͊͘ͅẻ̷̫̭͖̈́̆̍̓̿͑̒̀́̎͘̚ț̸̡̛̩̥̙̙̯̞̗͖̮̞̳͓̏̈̄̀̀̔̈́̒̇̆͋̈́̃͠ö̵̢̢̭̪̳̥̥̙́̄̍͆̈́̉̈́̌̿̌̋̚͝u̵̙̩̙̭̝͇̘̜͛͐͗̋͘͜t̷̯͍̗̮̪̫̱̣͚̖̥̎̒̀̑̿͂̍̽̍͘͜s̴̨̨̫̫̲̟̫͈̭̬͎̮̱̤͠ͅw̷̧̠̖̰͕͎͍̱̹̒̃͂̓͝ȩ̷̟͔̤̪͎͍̈́̊̀̈́̔̚͠͠ë̸͉̘̹̳́̒̓͆̃͌̇̑̅̾͐͘̚͝ț̵̳͈̥̘͈̓͑̽͌̓͑͘͘͝͝i̵̧̫̭͚̯̹̜̘͈̜̘̭̊̆̿͒̈́͒̍͐͝é̷̡̢̡̺̩͎͙̘̠̠́̋̇̃͊̈́͐͂̌̅͒͒́̚w̶̨̡̢̭̮̟̳͇̣̼̏̃̔̍̓̚h̶̛͎͇̗͙̦̩̥̋̅̿͜ŷ̵̨͔̼̭͈̙̹͈͖͗͆͊̈́͂̃͑̉͑̅͑̆͜͝â̸͇̬̏̀͗͛̈͠r̴̰̹̼͉͚̙̦̭͍͇̬̱͓̆͋͝ę̴̢̨̰͖̰̼̟̝̯̖̲̱̀̀̌̇̀͌͑͂̈́̎́͜͜͝y̵͕̿̋͐̽̄̇ͅơ̷̧̮͐́̇̈̉̈̌̄̂̽̾̇̇͝ǘ̴͓̮͓̬̈́̅͗͘͘̚ͅs̴̫͑̋́̅̾t̸̨̨̛̙̝̥̹̳͍̤̦̠̿̑͆̓̍̎͑̏͝͠i̴̧̨̡̡̲̘̠̳̣͕̙͓̦͉̍̊̈́͆͝ͅl̸̨̛͇̣̫̖̦͚͎̤͉͍̓̈̌̏̿̌̎̔̽͜l̶̢̡͖͚̺̞̰̘̝̠̫̬̋h̷̛͈̺͍̘̰͕̞̺̳̲̪̖̓̉͊͐̎͛̅̏̇ȩ̵̱̿̃̍͜͜͝ŕ̴̝̼̙̰̬̣̤̙̈́̓͝e̷̢̧̡͍͖̖̣̖̼̜̩̘͓̒̊̓̔͑́̎̓͗̒̌͜͝t̷̡̛̹̘͇͓̜̥͎͕͗͂̓̀̓̈́̈͗̚ḧ̴̡̬̗̰̞̙̻̪́͐͐̿̈́͒̋̀̑e̶̡̛̬̞̼͇̤̗͎͍̱̐̾̓͑͆̅̅͋̈͜r̸̪͔̳̎͐e̶̡̒̿̑̈́̕͠ḑ̸̨̬̜̱͙̥̻̳̰̥̱͇̀͜w̷̡̧̙̺̦͈̳̪̩̘̘͖̩̗͒̎̽̊̌͛͛̒̐̍̕̕͠í̴̢̧̨͖̳̺̖̟̟̙͚̙̝͚̦͐͒̓́̍̀͝ļ̸̞̘̯̑̅̿̈́̐͗̀̇̇̍̈̔͊̌̑l̸̥̯̠͓̔̔̈́̓̚g̸̦̮͑̐͂͐ȩ̴̱̙͉͉͚̣̟̊̈́̃͆̏͐̍́̒͆̀̂̊͑̚t̶̨́̌ţ̶̢̝̗̪̗̯̯̮̰̠̹͂ͅo̴͍̠̲͎̼͎̯͒̀̋̕u̴͖̲̫̣̼̰͕̹̹͊͗͆̊͊̽͆̍͑͜ş̶̢̢̢̞̙̳͓̪̀͂͆̀̈͊́͜ͅa̸̯̤̬͖̼̲̲̫̳͑̀̈́̓̽̓͌̿͆̚l̵̥͙̻̅͛̐̈́͌̑͆l̷̡̛̟̖̫̬̩̥̱͈̥̙͚͈̙̟̿̽̄͗͛́̍͑͘͝e̷͔͚̠̝̗̲̿̌̚͝v̴̭̗͉͉̼͇̹͈̣̭͉̣̔̔̓̅͋͛̄̎͊̋̔̾̕͜ĕ̷̙̄͑̍͂̓͌̊n̴̲̬̝͕̭̳̜̈́̌͂̎̊̂̈͛̕̚ţ̶̡̡̲͉̘̫̲͕̼̳͙̂̌̕ȕ̵͕̮̯̲̩͓̝͙̔̇̈́͛̍̄̕͘a̵̻̺͚̟̺̋̍̓̃̈̓̿̄͂l̵̛͙̫̞̩̺̼̪̗̊̈́̇̂̈́̂̔̎͘͝l̸̘̀̄̌͛̈́̈́̀̉̉y̴̛̝̰̱̬̎̃̈́̿͂̆̓y̴̧̛͕͖͍̫̺͔̺̩͉͑͐̉̒ö̴̖͎͔̩̭͙̥͖́͛̌͐͝ư̵͉̝͈͑̇̇̾̉̆͆ń̴̯̠̟̫̙̬̦̀̊́̎͋͋͑̓̊͗ḛ̴̟̗̤͈̝̻̲̬͇̥͓̪̇̊̑͝ͅe̴̠̜̜̠͙͎͔̥͔͑͗̏̂̓̄͌̿̐̔́̃͘͠ḑ̷͇͚͚̝̱͈̜̝̮͔̻̬̆̏͐̽̄̎́͋̊̅͝ţ̴̨̠̹̫͍̥͇͚̮̑̅̽͋̃́̈̑͘̚͝o̶̩̘͊͆̽̄̈́̈́̀͗́͘͝ŗ̶͙͚̞̲̰͓̆̉̕̕͜ͅu̷̢̼̞̺̥͌̈̆͛̎̓̀n̸̛̖͓̦̺̱̯͇͙̝͚͊̊̈́̍̓͌́̇͑͊͝͝͝y̴̧̡̛̜̪̼͍̳̳̣̱͒͗̌̾̅̒͛͂ȯ̶̡̬͓̼̳̐̾̈́̈́̊̃̐͘u̴̩͕͉͉̱̳͓̟̹̺̥̙̘̔̀̄̍͂́̈́̈͜͝͝n̷̛̛̻̫̫̭̼̻͈̉̔̔͛͑̾͌̀͊́͘̕͝ę̵̖͉̖͕̭͉̥͇̻̺̤͕͆͛͌̇̉̃̇̊͗́͐͝e̵̢͕̦͉̤̱̖̣͉̲͐̏͒̀̇͂̔͜ḑ̵̻͕̦͚̼̯͚̼̺̀̏́̄̎̑̈͂̒̇̈̓́͘͠ṭ̴̨̡̛̳̞̤̺̺̖͉̣̄̒͐̓̽̍͋͠ǫ̸̮̞̔̍́̔̉̈͘͘g̵̹̙̤̯̭̃̿̆̓̕ǒ̶̼̲͔̝͍́͗̑ͅa̸̰͇͋̀̀̋̾̚͝s̷͔̺̠̭̰̺͈̿f̴̨͙̰̲̖̩͉̮̆ą̸͇̣̹̯̦̤̗͕͚̞͇̩͔̋̉̾r̴̮̹̬͒̓͝͠a̵̞̪̻̭̱̹̞̒͑́̈́̓͐̌̏̒̆̊ͅs̷̢̛̱͌̾̈́̿̃͋͂̾̈́̆̇̕y̵͉̪̪͚̺̩̮͐̉͌̄̏̂̏̐̉͂̀̔͊̇̀o̷̤͔̘̘̟͔̠̓͌̔̅̈͝ų̸̢̯̹̳̯͌̑́̄̌̔́̽͊̓͛͘̕ć̷̢̻̞̱͇̞͉͑̐̉͆͌̀̊̇̊̎̒̕̕̚͜ͅa̸̛̻̰̳̜̓͆̃̈́̾͛̀̆̽ͅņ̵̗̩̙̠͉͇̄͂̇́̒̈̌̚͝͠͝p̶̙͔͕͛̍l̶̟̝͇̖̳̞͇̖̖͎̘͊̑̂͊̂̚̚ͅẹ̷̢̜̠̣͙̻͉̪̱̼̏̃̀̿̔̔̊͘ǎ̸̲̭̤͖͙͇̝̟̦͉͌͑́̃̄͝ͅͅs̷͚͌̈́̀̂͊̽̃͠e̴̛͚̓̾͛̊̓̈́́̐̕d̸̫̜̥̜͎͊͗̀̈͌̌̃́̈̐̾̊͝͝͠ă̶̙̙͑̋̎́̇ȓ̸̨̢̢̲̞̰̦͓̯̘̳ͅḽ̵̛̛̩̿́̃̔̃̒́́̓́͒͠i̶̛͖̬̲̰̥͖̠̗̠̖̤͉͇̼̹͂̿̊̋͋̆̔̓͠n̷̢̺̣̱̟͎̝̩̝͕̭̦̥̠̏̾̈́̑̇͝͝g̴͕̓͛̈́̎̚i̸̢̦̩̊̄̅̊̏̈́͋̓̾͝t̶̖͚͔̞̯͖̠̜͑̉́̐͊̄͋̚͠s̴̡͓̬͖͓̠̬̣͔͙̻̯͊â̵͍͈̔̈͂̿́̔̚l̴̲͚͎̪̪͍̣͚͔͓͐́̎̔̄͂̇̈́̈̊̃́̿́r̷̨͙̜̞͙̫͆͋̌̈e̸̡͎͇͍̞͖͎̠̊̇͂̇͊̍á̷̧̹̥͔̗̲̀̈́͛d̶̡̻̀͊̉̑̉͆͛͌͆͋̈́̌̓̽y̸̛̲̝̭̲̮͋̔͊̆̿̏͜͝t̶͓̙̞͖̦̱͗̄̂̈́o̴͖͓̯͔͓͌̄̌̆͗o̵̜͚͖̲͔̮̳̯̬̯̲̤͗͛̆̎͂̍͗̒͊̍̈́̊̓͘͝l̴̢̢̖̞̪̣̥̭̯̯̘͔̯̏͗͗͆̑͛͆̎̂̊͝ȧ̶̦̯̟̰̜͕̻̠̩̳̰͎̀̏͌̏̌͋̍͠t̴̪̤̽̔̚e̵̳͛̏́̍̒̎̈́̓̑̚͝f̸̦̹̤̱͙̦̫͙́͂͐̄̈̒͊̚ọ̸̧̦͖͎̼̯͚̰͕̭̱͋̂̏͑̾̌͂̋̾͌̆͐͘͘r̷̡̹̭͓̭̣̂́͠m̶͓͔̲͔͐̌͆̀̿̃̇̏̒͛̎̎́͑

I dunno. Couldn’t hear him very well, but he sure darn looked happy when I delivered a knuckle sandwich to his face!

But weeds… they suck. Sticky and gross, with roots and weird bits of some icky stuff I can’t really tell what’s what. My hands’re all red and my face is all red and my brain is all red and my-

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

You know what? Forget red. Today, I’ll be a rebel. I’ll be green, like what a proper gosh darn suburbia white picket fence yard should look like in the good ol’ Midwest. Green is such an… earthy color, y’know? I’ll be green. I’ll be spiritual.

No matter how much the sky wants me to be red, I’ll be green.

What does green do, though? I haven’t the foggiest idea. I remember seeing green once a long time ago, together with Ms. Sue Doughnim, but I ain’t got nothin’ to see here besides the stupid red grass and the stupid red soil and the stupid red liquid making my boots all yucky.

Maybe if I throw up, I’ll see green. I heard about that once—that puke is green. If I had any food in my tummy I would do it in a heartbeat, but times are tough, pardner. You gotta make do with what you gotta make do.

Aw, gee wilikers: I just thought up the greatest idea!

Human blood is red, right? So that means plant blood should be green because, duh, that’s common knowledge.

I just need to make that woman over there bleed.

I don’t think she’ll mind, being all roots and stuff and laying in the middle of the street like some kind of rootin’ tootin’ roadkill. I’m pretty sure she’s more plant than human, anyhow.

Can plants feel pain? Papaw never really told me much about it—just that humans feel pain when they get hurt. Humans feel pain when they’re sad. Humans feel pain when they despair.

I’m in so much pain.

But that doesn’t mean she’ll feel any pain! Ayo, let’s get to slicin’ and dicin’!

Wait, I don’t have any slicers or dicers.

Crap.

And I can’t use sharp things in the house because papaw forbade me that old bag o’ crap! I’m big enough. I’m old enough. It’s time he sets me free to pursue my true potential.

Well, if he ever leaves his room.

What to do, what to do…

Ohoh? The red man is back. Staring. Creeping. He’s lurking around me. He’s crying tears of red.

Seems like someone needs another dose o’ pixie dust! I’ll show ya this time you rotten scoundrel-

Wait wait wait a moment… maybe I can make this work.

Hey knucklehead! Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?

N̵͚͇̬̖̭͇̒͒̅̈́̉͆o̸͕̯̤̗̟͈͊̾̾

Good. Because you look like quite the marvelous gentleman, I must say. Your handsome, ruggish face would no doubt make you faint on sight if you were to see yourself now!

R̵͉͈̻̥̘̯̺͊̀̃̃ḙ̶̛̥̦̮͚̮̱̆̈̃̄͌̚̕ą̸̰̯͙̪̤͚̱̆̽ļ̵̭̙̅͛͊̾̚͜ļ̷̪͉̳̲̰̿ÿ̵͚͍̙͎͜?

But of course, mon ami. A lady never lies.

A̷̭͚̲̝̖͝w̸͖̏̃͑͆,̷͇̣͚̜̫͒̑̐͋̀̚ ̴̨̰̎̉t̶̗̳̭͈̘̙̲͎̍̿̐̔̚͝h̴̟̼̞͇͈̮̿̀̊͗̑̃a̴̼͖̎̏ͅt̸͕͎̰͍̳̣̲̃̀̊̅̈̅’̴͙̳̫̯̹̝̀̈́̾̄͋s̴̜͇͎͍̖̱̰̒ͅ ̵̤͈̦̮̬̜͑̇̃͆̍̈̕s̶̢̧̢̪̩̜̤̬̔̀̀̂̇̀ȯ̸̰̈̾̈́ ̶̺̼̃̄s̶̼̀̌̕w̴̥̰̕ę̵̛͓͕͙͕̣̤̑̃̈́̆͝e̶̲͇͖̞̜͓͍̙͗͂͛t̵̺͕̖͆̇ ̵̧̝͚̦̜̝̆͊͛͜͜o̸̡̮̩̟͉͙͌̓̀̏͐͝f̸̢͔̰͉̏́̑̈͝ ̵̜̟̟͇̅͑ỳ̷̢̞̟̒̎͘o̵̖̯̾̕ư̶͚̱̏̀̉-̷͉̣̰̺͔̎̀̄͆̑͜

Pow! Right in the kisser! Well, at least that’s where my fist would have landed if the red man had a mouth. But no, just a red face and creepy eyes.

He’s out cold like a Wisconsinite on a Saturday evening after visiting three, count them, THREE taverns in one whole night! Phew, what a night.

Anyway, now that my unconscious assistant is raring to go, let’s put those weird claw-like appendages of his to work. Let no one ever deny my craftiness! Ohoho!

With a scoot, a drag, and marvelous twirl if I do say so myself, the claw digs into the plant woman.

Damn.

Her blood is still red.

Damn.