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A lot of people like to read short stories in their free time, so this the best story about mothership we write for you, so read an enjoy.

A Mothership Story

Peter could not find an empty seat in the entire pub garden. It was a lovely Friday afternoon. With Bank Holiday Week, it felt like Christmas but with better weather and less stress.

So, would it be like meeting parents? Clark asked.

Peter thought for a moment. ‘Prefer to meet parents at a time with more divorces,’ she said. ‘Katie is going to stay with me and daddy. Then, I’ll take her on Sunday to see mommy and bob. ‘

Then a fun weekend for you?

No reason why – I think so, said Peter. Daddy a quick finish to offer home. And they have to be right – except Mom and Dad, of course. It would be good if it was okay. It really will. Peter shook himself and remembered his drink.

What is your father doing? Asked Clark.

“Good. Still doing too much. And a lot to do with a new home. She is still in the garden. Sorry, Clark, I want to take this – this is it.

Peter jumped and ran off the road to escape the crowd, but the noise from the bus traffic was louder. So, this was one of those screaming calls.

It was fast, said Clark.

She looks nervous. I’ll be back better. Do you want to come

The commercial where the pub was at a corner of a junction

Some parts of the town became residential and then continued to the suburbs. This is where Peter’s dad had his new place; A 1980s two-bedroom semi. One size from an old family home, but all that could afford it after partition. As they walked and talked, the roads were flooded with overcrowded traffic.

What is happening to her?’ Asked Clark.

My mom calls it “the psychology of weeds.”

I thought he was doing a couple of calculations after work.

No, this is his new lawn – weed – they are driving him crazy. It comes and goes, but she felt bad on the phone. He dreams about them – or instead, he dreams about “him.”

This? Asked Clark.

“Yes,” Mother ship, “he called it. He thinks a weed is spreading to everyone else and he needs to find it. Like on aliens, he says.

‘Yes, but the alien has a demon mother, not a mother ship.

you’re right. He likes that movie, but yes, he got it wrong.

It may be part of psychology.

Possible enough.

As Peter and Clark walked through the side gate to head into the back garden, they heard a loud ‘bloody hell’.

The gate opened and the wounded closed, but Peter‘s father did not return. He was kneeling, bent over, had his back, and knife to the ground with a thorn in the hand of a garden.

Bloody hell!

I’m not sure how to use one of them, Daddy, Peter cried.

They don’t let him go at the gardeners’ question time, Clark said with a laugh.

Can we come, Daddy?’ Peter screamed.

Yes, don’t just go near monkey-hill bits.

The lawn was small, square and mostly green, though it didn’t have much grass. Wild herbs have a lot of it. Dipped on all sides, they had small holes with piles of dark clay. The largest version was almost dead center. The garden looked like a pyramid pattern in Giza.

Oh, hello, Clark. Do you know anything about weeds, boys? It doesn’t help much either. ‘

Not really, Mr. P.K. No. Have you tried Google?

Sod Google – this is the JCB I need. He scanned four garden points. To find the source, she made a special note.

Can’t You Kill Weeds? Clark asked.

I never have, and I probably never will, he said, shaking his head. “This is due to Peter’s mom having a tough year. She is a hippie, no poisonous thing on any living thing.  He kept a handful of what looked like a rocket or a dandelion. She probably wants these small specimens to be buried in the sea on a burning boat.

Are you sure she is a weed, Mr. P? Asked Clark.


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After dinner, Katie and Peter went downstairs to the pub. When Clark arrived, Katie lowered her head, a finger in her ear and purple hair falling on her face.

She likes to call a friend to ask about something, Peter said. This is a marriage counselor.

After introducing and buying drinks, Katie submitted the report.

Smith says it looks like a change. Your daddy is turning your anger into weed in the garden with your anger. It’s a parent thing. You need to fix the problem in the garden before you can proceed.

So, you just need to dig the garden, said Clark. ‘Get a JCB as your dad said.

Yes, but there will be nothing, said Peter.

I don’t think it’s too important, Katie said. “Smith said it was about removing the stone from his back.”

Or get marchioness from under the garden, said Clark.

Peter looked at Ana. ‘We will need some help.

I could make some calls, Katie said with a sweet smile.

When Peter and Katie returned after their drinks and planning, Mr. P was still standing. They tried their pitch.

I don’t like it,’ said Mr. P. I don’t want people here to be full of metal detectors or scanners or wasps. I can do it. Or me and you, Peter. And Clark. And even if she wants to get involved. “He smiled at Katie.

There was a loud cracking sound and the windows shone like two white glittering lights, as the car’s headlamps moved. Then came the high roar. The masses of rain began to tie the window, hearing the sound of other cows. The perfect July heat had turned into a perfect summer storm.

Peter woke up at midnight. He pulled behind the curtain. The windows were all covered up. He was terrified when he rolled onto a hole to look outside. The storm had passed, leaving a sky-blue, half-cloud sky. Something went down the alley.

“God, Ana. You have seen it “He helped her.

He kneeled down on the bed, his elbows resting on the windowsill. Peter opened the window to get a better look.

Madre M’O, Katie said.

They got dressed and ran downstairs. French windows were wide open in the dining room. Peter’s dad sat on a chair in front of the garden, not walking. The sun was shining. Peter sat down with his dad and Ana lay behind them.

Maybe it was a trick of the light; A Northern European version of early morning fog. Warm steam – if not cold enough – should be given a clear view of the garden. Perhaps there was something about the sun’s angle or the radiation from the canopy of a tree bordering the garden that awakened the entire place. Or maybe it was a reflection of the rainwater-filled holes that seemed to double the number and size of the herbs. Or maybe it was too loud at night. But it seems that a tornado has turned into a forest.

There were larger and larger shrubs, and some were either swimming or growing in the pits. It was still mostly green, but there seemed to be more rich colors; Orange, red and yellow.

What is that smell? Asked Peter.

Amb?’ Katie suggested.

I had mango sauce with a curry last night, Mr. P She opened her arms. You can get your people around. Whatever.

Peter shook Ana, and she went upstairs for her phone.

By mid-afternoon, Clark’s pal was leaning back and forth on the lawn with his metal detector, as he was trying to cut down the weeds with a striker. There were questions as to why a metal detector was a good idea, but things seem to be moving in the least direction.

Why Headphones? Asked Mr. P

He’s listening to seven voices, said Clark. “The seven voices of hell.” No one laughed.

If the boats haven’t got any, who is next? Asked Mr. P

These are my friends, archaeologists, Katie said with as much enthusiasm as she could. ‘They are excited to go because we are so close to the antiques.

Clark’s pal took off his headphones and shook his head. All this rainwater helps signal, but no, not much.

Katie’s archaeologists arrived with their ground paintings radar scanner. It looked like a tricky old lawnmower and kept falling into the ditch.

You will need big wheels, cried Clark.

They moved in a rotating direction towards the center, navigating the land as best they could. It was a little curtain. Two people were pressing it while watching. The third boy, the professor, shook his head. No one has felt the need to ask. When they finally moved to the center, where the largest hole was filled with water, they moved around a few times. They did not have a brief listening conversation. Professor smiled charmingly. The tension was increasing. Everyone came out to hear the news.

Yes, we think there may be something here. It’s a bit blurry but it looks like an octopus if it helps.

Yes! I knew it. Mr. P Hit the air.

Archaeologists took off their muddy shoes and went to join Clark’s pal for a takeaway pizza.

What next? Asked Mr.

We are waiting to hear from the botanical scientists. Katie sent some photos.

After playing with beer, pizza, coffee and all games with Katie, Katie finally said,

I got some news from a friend in Cardiff – they think it’s one … I can’t pronounce it. They think it’s from Borneo. He continued to read from his phone, translating from Spanish. ‘They say it may have escaped anyone’s reserves.

Can Plants Survive? Asked Clark.

They say, kill the roots. Dig it. Wash the roots and let it go.

Kill the octopus, said Clark.

Peter put his hands on his hips. Then, at the final stage. Excavator. Katie, Peter, and Clark were looking at each other.

What’s wrong? Asked Mr. P We have a digger, okay?

Yes, we can get around here tomorrow, said Peter. “The bad news is, dad, our guy for digging a mini is Bob.”

“Which bob?” Oh, no, asked Mr. Ji.

On Sunday afternoon, Bob surrounded his digger and two of his employees. Mr. P Left a lot of food and drink at the dining room table, then went for a walk. From the first day, everyone kept digging until it looked like a garden. It was noisy and not much fun to watch. An hour later there was a huge hole in the garden. The excavation revealed a pale-brown root that did not actually look like an octopus; Especially as it fell down the outside of the excavator bucket. Bob’s employees looked like hunters of the game as if they were six on either side. Peter called and told his father the scene, who didn’t say much.

Mr. P Said, I hope the turkey is all right, Katie, I have to get a big one next year.

I think the baby will still be in pain, Daddy, Peter said.

You are doing your research, son. Very good.

In the corner of the dining room, sitting on an unusual eight-foot table, in the middle of a set of Christmas cards and family photos, was a photo taken of Katie’s garden frame. By the light of the morning of July, this scene looked like a hundred years ago, instead of a few months ago. And it was not like your typical suburban backyard.

Outside, the lawn was covered in snow. A few birds were covered on the feeder and a pigeon burst its scatter. Under the birds, the garden fell asleep. All seeds, seeds, and roots are hibernating, waiting for the promise of spring and new growth.

This is the end of the short story. if you want to read more short stories visit our home page.

 

 


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