Off My Lawn

Fetching the milk in the morning, I find my front door locked and bolted. Strange.

Outside looks like a post-tornado zone. I’d remember a tornado – right? Someone in the neighbourhood must be missing a garden gnome collection which has ended up strewn all over what used to be the front lawn. Actually, strewn isn’t the right word; they look organised. Funny how they don’t seem to be damaged at all. I don’t like the look of them. They seem so real, as if frozen mid-move.

The boss gnome winks at me.

I grab the milk and re-bolt the door.

***

In response to the excellent Story A Day prompt today.

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