Work Text:
Futility
by Pirate Turner
Increasing perspiration sparkled against his green skin as his eyes swept over the throng of his enemy. They seemed to stretch as far as his eyes could see. Each blade was as thick as his fists, and the tallest came to the top of his shoulder. They swayed in the air, seeming to taunt him with their cries of near victory.
He kept going, pushing his way through, his dark eyes sweeping over their numbers in growing desperation. It was when he at last saw the end of the field that he knew he was defeated. They sang to him in the hot air, teasing him with the knowledge of their impending victory that they had known all along. His beak burst open in a cry of despondent defeat. "I can't mow the lawn, Sensei! I can't find the mower!"
The End