doctor's shot. 'Ow!' Owen yelled, tears coming to his eyes. But he
didn't let go of Springsteen. Now Springsteen started clawing at
Owen, but Owen would not let go. He ran all the way to the
driveway with Springsteen in his hands. Then he put Springsteen
down. 'Leave him alone, Springsteen!' Owen said, and, trying to
think of the very worst thing he could, he added: 'Leave him alone
or I'll put you in the Oven and bake you like a pizza!'
Springsteen hissed, showing his teeth. His tail switched back and
forth-not just the tip now but the whole thing.
'I don't care if you are mad!' Owen yelled at him. He was still
crying a little, because his hands hurt as if he had put them in the
fire. They were both bleeding, one from Springsteen biting him
and one from Springsteen clawing him. 'You can't kill people on
our lawn even if they are little!'
Springsteen hised again and backed away. Okay, his mean green
eyes seemed to say. Okay for this time. Next time... we'll see!
Then he turned and ran away. Owen hurried back to see it the little
man was all right.
At first he thought the little man was gone. Then he saw the blood
on the grass, and the little leaf hat. The little man was nearby, lying
on his side. The reason Owen hadn't been able to see him at first
was the little man's shirt was the exact color of the grass. Owen
touched him gently with his finger. He was terribly afraid the little
man was dead. But when Owen touched him, the little man
groaned and sat up.
'Are you all right?' Owen asked.
The fellow in the grass made a face and clapped his hands to his
ears. For a moment Owen thought Springsteen must have hurt the
little guy's head as well as his back, and then he realized that his
voice must sound like thunder to such a small person. The little
man in the grass was not much longer than Owen's thumb. This
was Owen's first good look at the little fellow he had rescued, and
he saw right away why the little man had been so hard to find
again. His green shirt was not just the color of grass; it was grass.
Carefully woven blades of green grass. Owen wondered how come
they didn't turn brown.
Silence
Stephen King
Published in 'Moth', 1970
Nothing
but the insect whine of
chemicals moving between
refrigerator walls:
the mind becomes CONFESSIONAL
(enamel)
murder
lurks
I stand with books in hand
the feary silence of fury
