Greenhouses
Abuse, Wonders of Gardening
By: Turboencabulator
Autumn was in full swing, the breeze cool, and a little humid. Will sighed, washing his hands
off in the stream from a frost-free hydrant. Sam had purchased the most plebian, trash-grade
gardening supplies, now thankfully relegated to a junk pile in Fergus’s yard. It had taken the
better part of a week, but now the greenhouses had been retrofitted into hydroponic hothouses,
able to produce anything short of tropical fruits, year-round.
Fortunately Sam was more interested in the possibilities for food rather than the bill for
materials and parts. Will stood up, popped his back, and went into the one greenhouse that Sam
didn’t have a plan for.
Rows of flowers, and rooting vegetables marched down parallel rows of hydroponic troughs, the
slow water flow producing calming, mellow sounds. Freshly transplanted from his backyard
garden, the soil traps would need to be changed quite often. Will carefully pulled on two
layers of gloves and a respirator, tucking his sleeves in, before starting on the next round of
transplants.
Sam pulled in to the drive with a rented U-Haul trailer, and carefully backed it up to the
poured concrete building, designated as the ‘fertilizer production’ building. After parking and
bouncing the trailer off the hitch, swearing profusely as the ball refused to release, he went
through the back door, to the greenhouses, looking for Will.
What he found was a freshly prepared garden, tarped over for spring planting. Gravel paths had
been cut into the soil, edged with limestone lintels, and framed by an intermittent wall of low
bushes. The field beyond had been trimmed down from three feet of wild grasses to something
closer to a golf course. Bundles of grasses were tied up and sorted into types near the edge of
a stone-lined burning pit.
Will came out of a greenhouse, wearing protective equipment. Sam looked around, blinking. “I
was gone for four days, what the hell?”
Will shrugged. “Hey, I got a lot done. How was Detroit?”
Sam wandered over to the sole populated greenhouse, full of beautiful flowers in hydroponic
beds. “It was less dirty than I remember. Why does this have warning signs on it?”
Stepping in front of Sam, Will held up his hands. “Whoa there,” he said, “no entry without
appropriate protective gear.”
“What?”
Will opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. He leaned to one side, looking behind Sam, who
turned to see what had distracted him. A beat-up station wagon was prowling along the wall of
the property. After a moment, a flabby, unkempt woman jumped out of the passenger seat, dropped a technicolor ball of screaming over the wall, and got back in the car, which promptly
accelerated off.
“Oh son of a bitch.” Sam said, sighing. “Well it was bound to happen. I’m going to be spending
more on cameras on this damn property then on actual work stuff.”
The duo walked over to a screeching, shitting mare. The piss-yellow fluffy was in full tantrum
mode, beating her tiny hooves on the ground and screaming about ‘mummah dummy meanie poopie head’ not giving her what she wanted, spraying the wall with squirting pumps of rancid
shit. She was stained and unkempt, and had a distinct smell of cigarettes and cheap air
freshener.
After a few seconds, she finally noticed the two humans and stood up, cheeks puffed. “What
dummy hoomins want? Cowona hab biggest angwies.”
“Well, Corona.” Sam began, “We were just wondering why that woman put you on this side of the
wall. We don’t get a lot of fluffies on our land.”
Corona made a little ‘hmph’ sound, and heavily sat down in her own shit with a little splat
sound, angrily pouting. “Cowona find bestest tasty nummies an nummed dem but mummah was dummy an said was fow daddy’s biwthday. Dummy. Daddy nu need bestest nummies. So Cowona find nyu bestest tasty nummies mummy made fow daddy an gave dem stompies and poopies an
pee-pees. But mummy an daddy stoopit an nu unnerstand aww de best fings awe fow Cowona, so dey make wots of shouty wowds an put Cowona in a meanie sowwy boxie an den Cowona fwy an now Cowona hewe.”
Will and Sam looked at each other. A slow smile spread on Will’s face. “Hey, Sam.” He said,
“You were asking about what I was growing in that greenhouse. Well, I’m betting Corona is
hungry after all that nonsense. Why don’t I get some fresh, pretty nummies cut for her so you
can see what I was growing.”
Corona immeidately perked up. “Pwetty nummies? GIB. GIB NAO. WAN NUMMIES. COWONA WAN BESTEST PWETTIEST TASTIEST NUMMIES NAO NAO NAO.” She finished by bouncing in time on her forehooves, and intermittently farting.
Sam nodded, and grinned. “Corona why don’t you come and sit in the nice stone bowl, it’s a lot
less prickly than the dry grass.”
The fluffy made another ‘hmph’ sound, and squelched past Sam, leaving a trail of brown in the
tan grass as she went over to the smooth stone pit and sat down.
Will returned with a wooden bowl filled with admittedly beautiful flowers and foliage, on a bed
of seedpods and beans. He set this down and Corona looked at it, eyes widening. “Su
pwetty. Mummah nebber hab nummies dis pwetty.” With much slobber and belching, she dug in,
plowing through the large bowl until finally she fell on her side. “Oooh tummy so
fuwwww. Bestest nummies.”
After removing the bowl, Will put down a bed of straw cut from the bundles nearby. “Why don’t
you rest here. We’re going to be outside a while, and if you’re out here, maybe your mummy will
come back and see you’re ok and fix things.”
With a little squeal and a flabby bounce she jumps on the bed of straw. “Dat gud idea. Gun gib
mummy sowwiest poopies an wowstst owwies fow bein meanie and weaving me out hewe.”
After stripping off his gloves and respirator, Will sat down at a picnic table, lighting up and
watching Corona. Sam sat opposite. “Ok, so she ate some flowers, what did you do to them?”
Will shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, “just watch.”
It only took twenty minutes before Corona’s continual singing of the various theme songs from
FluffTV began to deviate, somehow going even further out of tune. The farty trickle of shit
began to turn more red, and her hind leg twitched unnaturally once in a while. The fluffy
didn’t notice.
“You have a toxic greenhouse.” Sam said, watching as Corona slowly rolled on her side, making
little squealing scree sounds.
She began to arch her back as muscles mis-fired, bending her backwards until her shit-encrusted
tail occasionally smacked her face. There was a constant flow of bloody stool, occasionally
disrupted by gut-wrenching flatulence. Her hooves scrabbled against the stone and straw but
nothing helped. She vomited, sobbing and screeching, words refusing to form as her larynx and
tongue lost control.
Will got up and shrugged. “It’s really more a medicinal plant greenhouse. But yes they’re all
extremely poisonous when mishandled.” He bent down and lit the straw with his lighter. “Or just
eaten.”
The breeze took the flame and in a minute, Corona was on fire, the screaming redoubling as the
nerve pain from the consumed plants combined with the burning fluff and straw. It took her two
minutes to expire, her corpse deflating slowly as the last remnants of shit spewed out,
extinguishing the fire near her tail, putting it out.
After a moment, Will turned to Sam. “So you want the license plate of the people that dumped
her?”
Sam thought, looking at the burned, shit-encrusted corpse of a fluffy. Then, he said, “Yeah,
lemme just find a plastic bag and a box.”