The Old Blog in the Desert

Ill from a severe cold or not, some work must be done in order to maintain a yard and so it doesn’t get too overgrown. With that in mind, Collier shoved the walk-behind lawn mower out the back door, filled it with unleaded gasoline and tugged six or seven times on its pull cord causing it to belch, rumble and jump alive.

By three sweeps of what would be nearly one-hundred before complete, his throat drew closed and lungs spasmed and Collier began to violently hack, gag and cough his way across the fourth cut. Unable to continue in a straight line, he stopped and returned to the house, first blowing his vastly-filled snotty-nose and then plying a mentholyptus-flavored cough drop in his mouth.

It took a few minutes for the lozenge to finally take-hold and progressively slow Collier’s cough and bring the spasms to a close. Another few minutes and he returned outside to finish the job at hand.

Back and forth he pushed the green mower, filling the bag that covered the slot through which the freshly clipped grass was flung after being beheaded by the machines sharpened blade. Soon he was more than half way done and was beginning to feel less sickly, as he had all week previously, and more accomplished.

Then it happened; a deep, bellowing, uncontrolled cough that Collier could not contain or restrain.

Automatically, his throat widened as the alveolus of his lungs expanded and he expelled a ferocious volume of air and phlegm from his body. Then as Collier’s body fell back into reverse, he sucked in an equaled volume of said air, and with it the remaining and unused portion of that once-helpful tablet and unceremoniously began to choke helplessly.

It took hours to loosen its grip from below his esophagus. No, that is wrong, it took mere ticks of the pocket watch to fly loose, as he crawled on his hands-and-knees in a near-blind panic, clawing widely through the grass, willing his brain to stay active and alert, until he could find it some general relief from the stagnate air that fed it less-and-less oxygen each time those speedy red blood cells of his vasculature presented themselves to the exchange masters, who remains standing languidly in and on his heaving chest.

Suddenly these terrible seconds came to a close and Collier vomited projectiley that most singular of objects, dislodging the throat lozenge across the yard, as he collapsed bodily to the earth. He lay there wheezing and whistling, coughing and panting, and fighting-off ever-excitable dogs, each convinced that he was face-planted in pain for their simple, but playful amusement.

Death would have been more comforting, but even he did not want Collier after the terrible, and most embarrassing shape Collier had presented himself in those early morning hours, shortly after all county noise ordinances ceased to exist. Inside of sixty-seconds, and without utterance of single cuss word, he left the lawn mower parked where it had halted its noisy business, and returned to his sheet-twisted, quilt-gnarled mattress.

Collier became acutely aware and certain that over the days and nights, Death had visited him again, coming to look in upon Collier a time or two since, and still shaking his head in total disgust of the man, as he dragged himself, flowing robe, and long, sharp scythe away, unable to bring himself to do the deed, knowing that even in a ragged state of decay, Collier would be a most sorry lot for his forever-growing collection.