{"id":83407,"date":"2020-09-14T11:37:40","date_gmt":"2020-09-14T10:37:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/centmagazine.co.uk\/?p=83407"},"modified":"2020-09-14T13:38:42","modified_gmt":"2020-09-14T12:38:42","slug":"flower-heads","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/staging.centmagazine.co.uk\/?p=83407","title":{"rendered":"Flower Heads"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Love short stories? Then why not read our latest Flower Heads.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The old garden was ablaze with colour, rampant with foliage. The Government Inspector had given it the once over and issued a Re-Wilding Order. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeri was going to ask, but where are\nwe going to grow our food?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            But Jeri imagined the GI replying,\nin a patronising voice. Your food is grown in America.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Processed with VSCO with hb1 preset<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

            The fact is the garden was not\nworthy of Heritage Garden status, and wasn\u2019t capable of incorporation into the\nneighbouring farm. It did lie adjacent to the old road however, from which the\ntarmac had recently been lifted, making it an official Wildlife Corridor. This\nwas good for everybody. Except Jeri. Though, taking the long view, it was good\nfor Jeri too, because the \u2018sacrifice\u2019 would be recognised and Jeri\u2019s name would\nbe added to the list of village \u2018heroes\u2019.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            That had been eighteen months ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            You keep a five foot access strip\naround the house, the GI had said. And I\u2019d advise you to fence it securely, in\ncase you actually have to do any work out there. And get everything you need\nout of the garden shed and store it indoors. There\u2019s no need to remove the shed\nas it\u2019s bio-degradable. The Government prided itself on taking a long view, as\nopposed to the short-termism of the other party\u2019s administration.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Apart from that Jeri had passed with\nflying colours, kept the list of ten permitted non-family visitors, retained\nplaces on most of the non-family visitor lists others had added them to, and\nhad access to in-store shopping in half the stores which had been applied for.\nThat\u2019s a higher than average acceptance rate, the GI had observed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeri remembered the days when there\nhad been \u2018trusted suppliers\u2019. Now it was \u2018trusted customers,\u2019 and three\ntrustees had to nominate you too, and if you screwed up all four of you would\nbe back at the online counter and paying for the privilege.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            So it was only the garden really.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeri was amazed, gob-smacked might\nbe a preferred word, at how quickly Nature had \u2018come back\u2019. It wasn\u2019t as if\nthey were in the tropics. Even with climate change, and the unexpected rush of the\nsea over the flat lands to the north, this part of England was not what anybody\ncould call tropical. But Nature had come back. The roses had gone crazy all\naround the lawn. They were old fashioned varieties and didn\u2019t flower for long,\nbut while they were in flower they were magnificent, with thousands of tiny\nflower heads of a pale pink colour, and when, after only a couple of weeks at\nbest, they fell, the grass was absolutely covered, though now it was longer the\neffect was lost to some extent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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            Even the ornamental trees seemed\nsuddenly bigger. They had filled out as if some restraining, civilising will\nhad been withdrawn. He wondered if the wildlife had felt the same pulse of\nfreedom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeri remembered the days when you\ncould take a cup of teas and a biscuit out to the garden. Well, a packet of\nbiscuits, perhaps, but you could work it off afterwards, cutting the hedges or\nmowing the lawn. Jeri still enjoyed the garden; well, enjoyed looking out over\nit: the seed heads dancing in the wind; the birds shrieking their warnings when\nsomething unseen threatened. It was still possible, legally, to cross to the\nshed, but Jeri had been spooked by noises in the undergrowth that could not be\nexplained, rationally. Something was living in or near the ruins of the shed.\nPerhaps it was a fox. Or a badger. Or something else. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Someone had come to look at the\nhouse. They\u2019d looked at the garden, over the security fence outside the dining\nkitchen. Garden? They\u2019d said with a rising inflexion. You livin\u2019 too close to\nthe bush, man. They hadn\u2019t put in an offer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Most disturbing were the gnawed\nheads on what had been the lawn. They weren\u2019t visible from the dining kitchen,\nwhich was a relief, but from the window in the spare bedroom, now categorised\nas \u2018storeroom\u2019 for tax purposes and where what they needed from the shed had\nbeen stowed, you could see them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            They were sheep\u2019s heads, as far as\nyou could tell. Feral sheep are spreading at an alarming rate in the area.\nThere were never any bodies. Just the heads, the teeth showing an off white\ntinged with yellow. Jeri had expected rabbits, but there were no rabbits. The\nrabbits had vanished.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Next door\u2019s garden had been full of them.\nJeri had spent hours blocking up holes and thin places in the hedge, trying to\nkeep them out. We\u2019ll be overrun, he\u2019d said, after the Banning Order came into\nforce. Not that it would have mattered any more. But the rabbits had vanished\nwithin a few weeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Sheep had wandered down the lane.\nThe neighbouring farm doesn\u2019t do sheep any more, obviously, but they bred up on\nthe high fells. Tough, semi-wild at the best of times, they didn\u2019t need the\nsheep nuts that lowland sheep lived on. They would ignore them, didn\u2019t know\nwhat they were. They lived off the land, survived the winters, which were wet\nnow rather than cold. They bred like rabbits, and died like flies, and kept the\nreturn of the native trees at bay while the government argued about the ethics\nof a cull.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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            But something was killing them. Something was killing them and bringing the uneaten heads and leaving them on what had been the lawn, just the other side of the fence that Jeri had erected, securely. Working on a fallen tree once in a fellside garden Jeri had felt something crack and give way, and had looked down to see the carcase of a sheep, the bones picked clean of meat, tendon, skin. Even the fleece had disappeared.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
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            Jeri could remember when Snowy used\nto bring little gifts. Birds mostly, with the occasional mole, and mice of\ncourse; lots of those. Snowy never hunted the rabbits though, even when they\nbroke through the barricades and came into the garden, which was always a\ndisappointment. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            They hadn\u2019t brought everything in\nfrom the shed. Why would they? Most of it was gardening stuff, and might as\nwell go to hell with the building itself, seeing as they wouldn\u2019t have any\ngarden to use it on. Flower pots, for house plants they\u2019d brought in, and,\nperversely Jeri thought afterwards, the garden furniture. They\u2019d planned to use\nthat along the five foot access strip, but the sun rarely fell on that, and besides,\nit was too cramped to be comfortable. Nowhere outside was as comfortable\nanymore; not as comfortable as you might have expected. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Jeri had always taken walks up the\nlane and round the block, a couple of miles in all, but after the tarmac was\nlifted, and they didn\u2019t bother to smooth off the exposed sub-strata, it became\nhard work, tiring, irritating rather than bracing, a slog in fact. And once a\nstray cow, and heaven knows how it came to be there after the farm had switched\nto arable, well, not a cow so much as a young stirk, frisky, nervous, curious,\neven belligerent, had stomped unexpectedly around the bend up near the ruined\nbarn. Jeri and the beast had both come to an abrupt halt, glared at each other,\nand then the animal come on causing Jeri to cry out involuntarily, which had\nsent it skittering back out of sight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            There was, quite clearly, an animal track, a hollow pathway through the old rose bushes where something the size of a dog must have pushed through repeatedly, leading onto the old lawn. Perhaps it was coming in from the old lane, or had a lair near the shed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
Processed with VSCO with hb1 preset<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

            Snowy had always vanished in the\nspring. He\u2019s getting his end away, Jeri used to joke. He\u2019d be away sometimes\nfor a whole fortnight, and then come back, his tail erect and like a bottle\nbrush, purring and rubbing himself against your legs for food. Often he\u2019d bring\nhis little gifts then and leave them by the kitchen door. They would have had\nhim neutered were it not for the lock down and the Changes. And then he\u2019d\nvanished for good, after the tarmac was lifted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Whatever it was that was bringing\nthe heads, surely, Jeri thought, must be feeding a family of some sort off the\nrest of the carcase. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

            He looked out towards the shed. It seemed further away than it had done. The paint had faded now, and a sharp winter storm had ripped the felt off half the roof. One of those jobs he\u2019d seen coming but not got around to before the Changes. There was a sort of slashing tool they\u2019d left in there, like an old medieval battle-axe, but made of modern carbon-steel and with a heavy duty plastic handle. It had cost a fortune and he\u2019d used it on the hedges around the orchard. He should have brought it inside the house, kept it by the kitchen door, just in case whatever was bringing the heads grew big enough to leap one day over the security fence, dragging the head with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All images called ‘Jeri’s dream’ exclusively made for .Cent by Emma June Roze<\/a>. Find her on Instagram here<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you enjoyed flower heads then one not read another story by Brindley Hallem-Dennis the Tinkerbell Conclusion here<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Love short stories? Then why not read our latest Flower Heads. The old garden was ablaze with colour, rampant with…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":193,"featured_media":84409,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"features_issues":[],"featured_themes":[15110],"ppma_author":[16714],"class_list":["post-83407","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-literature","featured_themes-raw"],"yoast_head":"\nFlower Heads | Cent Magazine flower Heads creative writing<\/title>\n<meta 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