A response to Heather Hansen's "Word of the Day" in Flashy Fiction.
White blossoms tinged with pinkish purple dotted Red's ornamental plums. Suture's tail wagged, she was being patient, and Red opened the screen door and she bounded across the yard. Pink light reflected off the bottom of the clouds and Red stood under the plum trees as small petals caught in his hair. The light was on in Mr. Hendrick's greenhouse. How could anyone spend all their time playing in the dirt. Besides, carrots were peasant food. Suture crouched in Mr. Hendrick's yard.
"Hey, clean up after your dog," yelled Mr. Hendrick as he charged out of the greenhouse.
Red waved his hand and called, "Here, Suture." Mr. Hendrick's face became blotchy. "It's your yard," said Red. The screen door banged shut behind Red and Suture.
Red stood barefoot on the warm cement porch and rubbed his eyes. The sun was bright compared to his dim office. The mail should be here now. Red stepped on something on the edge of his porch. Not sharp, but it hurt his bare foot. He crouched down, there was a line of carrot chimeras along the edge of Red's porch. Gnarled orange roots that stood upright as they braced upon bulbous misshapen side roots like misshaped arms and legs. Red rolled his eyes before sweeping the carrots off his porch and fetched his mail.