Another Contest Story

Very short fiction

The story I’m sharing tonight is from a Writing Battle contest. I like this contest because it is peer judged and each writer gets feedback from other contestants. To make it fair, you read and judge stories that aren’t in the same category as yours. The prompts and genres are always a surprise, and include some crazy combinations. For the story below, my genre was “Military Lampoon” and I had to include the subject of “Justice” and the word “Zealous.” Also, it had to be less than 500 words.

The feedback I received mentioned that the tale didn’t quite meet the justice theme, but I had fun with it.

The War of Roses

Lee Hammond had no quarrel with his neighbor until the crape myrtle incident. He kept silent over the neon dandelions dotting the yard next door, figuring someone who had spent his life at sea wouldn’t understand the complexities of lawn maintenance. Lee’s grass was an immaculate spread of green, like a soft blanket thrown across the ground. Saturdays, at exactly 0800, he zealously attacked the shrubbery, chopping it into uniform rectangles.

He ignored the Navy flag flapping from the man’s porch and ordered a larger version of his own banner—a sparkling white Army flag with gold fringe. 

The morning of the crape myrtle massacre, a landscaping truck parked in front of Lee’s driveway. Workers spilled onto the ten-foot-wide strip of grass separating the two homes. Music throbbed from a boom box, accompanied by the buzz of a chainsaw. 

“Hmph.” Lee dropped the blind he’d been peering behind.

Lee’s wife folded her newspaper. “You should go over. Introduce yourself.” 

He stooped to pet Ike, their English bulldog. “And say what? Why are you cutting down that tree? The one shading my drive?” 

“You two have much in common, being retired military.”

Lee grunted and parted the blinds again. “In common? The man has a cat, Helen. I see it over there, in the window.” An orange tabby pressed against the glass, staring at him. 

At the end of the day, the lawn between the two homes had been transformed. A squat rosebush sported crimson buds, and pink and yellow zinnias were sprinkled throughout the bed. That evening, while he took the dog out, Lee paced off the distance from his drive to the flowers. He smiled when Ike raised a leg to relieve himself against the rosebush. 

Things went on quietly until the morning Ike slipped under the backyard fence. Lee woke to a clamor of shouts, barks, and howls. He raced outside to spot Ike panting in the yard next door. Muddy flower petals littered the driveway and the rose bush tilted half out of the dirt. The orange tabby peered from atop the neighbor’s garage. 

“I’m sorry.” Lee grasped the dog’s collar. “Ike never does this.” 

“Ike? As in Eisenhower? Commander-in-chief?” When Lee nodded, the neighbor waved at the cat. “Meet Admiral Chester Nimitz.” The neighbor held out his hand. “I’m Jack.” 

After securing Ike inside, Lee offered the ladder from his garage. He held it as Jack climbed. 

Once they’d rescued Chester, Lee gestured to the ruined landscaping. “Since my dog did this damage, I’ll pay for replacements. And help you replant.” 

“I suspect it was a joint operation, Army and Navy,” Jack said. “Half is fair. Why don’t you come with me to the nursery?” 

Lee accepted the man’s offer, glad to offer advice on drought and pet tolerant plants. Later, their work finished, he had to admit they made a pleasant view, though he missed the crape myrtle’s shade. Red roses, blue lobelia and white gardenias—a perfectly patriotic compromise. 

THE END