Jacob the Lawnmower was trimming and harvesting the grass around the highest sand dune with the castle when suddenly he was someplace else altogether.
Something big was sniffing his right ear.
And up the wooden stairs, an ickle, white in color and cubic in shape.
He derezzes the now useless mower and heads up to the tree, trying to gain perspective.
“You can stop clutching now,” the simple ickle suggests. “You are no longer a mower. You are no longer anything. Welcome to the Land of Infinite Possibilities. Did I say infinite — I always do that. *Finite* Possibilities. But very broad and rangy possibilities nonetheless.” He paused, studying the guest more, the dilated eyes, the psychedelic, swirly green t-shirt. “What is your name, man?”
“Jacob,” came the answer in a plain voice. He almost said Jacob the Lawnmower but caught himself. He also stopped clutching. “I desire nothing except the grass and the wind.” Jacob then remembered another thing he desired. “And paper.”
“Rolling paper?” the ickle guessed correctly. “We have caves stocked with paper just for that purpose. “But — and this is the clincher, Jacob, so pay attention — we have no *grass.*”
Jacob looked around, seeing plenty of grass, if not exactly the mowing variety.
“Yes, yes,” the ickle explained further. “We have grass but not grass grass. The weed variety. Our grass is not weed… Mary Jane.”
“I am sad I cannot get high,” a high pitched pink bunny-ickle added from a nearby landscape depression.
“Nor me,” ventured a deep throated cuckoo-ickle from the base of the tree further up. “Come here, man, and descend down this spirally green hole to help aid us. It’s a worm tunnel going all the way to Jupiter. Trust us, man. It’s groovy.”
Jacob studied the tunnel using remote viewing. Seemed harmless enough, so he walked past the square white bird, uttered a quick, “see you guys,” and went in.
A 100+ pound weight then fell on the depressed bunny-ickle, crushing her to suds.