There, he'd finished. Finished pulling the weeds from the bed. And all the crap from his life. Now the flowers really looked nice. Beautiful. His life, sweet and wonderful. The red one would be his new job. The yellow one, his new girlfriend. The purple, his new car. Over there, the pink one, the gym where he would work out and create his new body. And that cluster of orange ones, his new stuff. He smiled up at the bright azure sky and breathed in the warm summer air as he strode toward the trashcan to dump the bucket of weeds. He slammed the lid shut on the losers, pumping his arm up and down. "Yes!"

   Three weeks later, Bob sauntered out the back door. He took a swig of beer and scratched his belly. His eyes wandered around the back yard and finally came to rest on the flowerbed. The weeds had returned, even taller and thicker than before, and not one flower was to be seen. He burped and flipped his cigarette butt into the bed. It disappeared with a sizzle into the green mass.

   Through his alcoholic haze, Bob swore the weeds were taunting him. No way was he going to take that. The beer can thudded and spilled on the concrete as he stumbled off the steps. Bob lurched toward the enemy and bent down to yank out a handful. But his head began to swim, and he fell face-first into the weeds. He groaned and started to get up, but their coolness felt good on his hot body, and he was soon fast asleep.

Read the entire story at: Aphelion: The Webzine of Science Fiction and Fantasy, in the "Archives" area.

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