Ognar Rance frantically looked through the tidy drawers in his garden shed, desperately searching for the syringe he’d used to add his ‘special blend’ formula into his dynamic strength plant food in readiness for the council’s forthcoming Nature’s Makeover competition.
‘Ah,’ he realised, suddenly, ‘the greenhouse… I was in there with it with the tomatoes!’
He ran next door to the greenhouse, failing to avoid the raindrops, but not failing to slip on the wet floor and slide headfirst into a bag of compost.
Myrtle, who was tending to the tomatoes in the corner of the glass and perspex, specially constructed plant house, looked over at the commotion, and chuckled as she saw her husband getting back to his feet, his head covered in the black mixture.
‘By ‘eck, it’s a funny old game, this gardening lark,’ Ognar chuckled back as he knocked most of the soil off himself, ‘and, my little pomegranate, I have no idea what I came in here for now either… fancy a cuppa?’
‘Ooh, yes, that would be lovely,’ Myrtle smiled as she popped the syringe she was using to feed the tomato plants back into a wooden box, ‘I’ve just finished here now.’
Posted for Six Sentence Stories. Denise has chosen game as this week’s prompt word.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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