“Hey, look,” they pointed. “Feels like you’re always seeing that, everywhere you go.”

It was an innocent enough sign, yet utterly incongruous. Small, close to the ground. Each red letter gently seriffed. Words engraved on a white plaque neatly perched at the precipice of a soft green sea. Please Do Not Walk On The Grass. 

“Come on, Michaela,” their companion said.

“You know, Jennifer? I’ve always wondered why,” Michaela continued. “It’s just grass, after all.”

Jennifer shrugged. “Great care is taken to nurture it.”

And the turf did look well cared for. Nestled between the four imposing walls of the college’s central courtyard, each blade of grass neatly trimmed. It was a mildly overcast day, and the walls and lawn were glazed by damp. A sheen of miniscule crystal beads atop each stem, a neatly laid blanket of green velvet glinting in the light.

And at the very edge, that sign. That small red-and-white sign, stained slightly by splotches of what must be rust. An unusual pattern of corrosion, though. Speckled dots.

“Yeah? Nurture?” Michaela seized eagerly on that word. “What, bit of that blood-and-bone fertiliser, get it looking nice and lush? Seems a lot of effort just to keep it looking tidy. Can’t imagine why. ’Specially not with loads of drunken students about.”

“School tradition,” said Jennifer. “We all respect it.”

“Wow, tidy lawn is a great tradition! You all gather round once a semester to sing your praises to it? Behold, the grass!”

Jennifer didn’t comment. She looked over one shoulder. The gilded hand of the clock tower was steadily approaching the hour. “Come on, Michaela—” she repeated. “Stop! No!”

Such was the urgency in her voice that Michaela immediately jumped up from where they’d crouched to the ground, one finger hovering just over the verge, almost caressing the tip of a single stem. “Was just going to touch it,” they said, shaking out their guilty hand. “Ain’t no-one else here.” 

“There’s a sportsfield round back.” Jennifer spoke pointedly. “Plenty of grass to walk on there, seeing you insist so much. Just not here.”

“What’s the worst that could happen? Gonna set an alarm off?” laughed Michaela. “Lots of loud sirens? Send the whole faculty running here to stop me?”

Jennifer found her thoughts pulled back as if captured on a chain; snarling, rearing their many heads, jaws snapping. Daring her to look away, to turn her gaze back to the present. Of course, she couldn’t. 

Because there had been sirens once. Rather a few. Their angry wail had woken up half the campus. It had been quite spectacular — like Christmas. The red and blue lights of the ambulances dazzling the walls... Too late, of course. There hadn’t been much left. 

Poor Perkins.

“Look. I’m glad you came down,” Jennifer said at last. “It’s so nice to see you again. But if we don’t get a move on, we’ll be late for lunch. Don’t let’s waste time here. There’s plenty more exciting things to show you still.” She gently shook Michaela’s shoulder. “Come on.”

“Alright,” sighed Michaela. The two walked off. 

A thousand glinting blades quivered restlessly in the breeze behind them.