Ed always hated his Grandmother’s garden. He hated the giant ants that were the size of his feet. He hated the spiders as big as his head. And above all he hated the giant, red, pulsating tomatoes.
So when his Grandmother called him to fetch some tomatoes for the salad, he knew that a sort of Biblical showdown was about to happen. He could feel the tension rise in his guts as he took the Ginsu knife from it’s slot in the block on the counter. He slipped a paring knife and a potato peeler in his pockets for good measure.
Standing on the back porch, he looked out over the vast expanse of pulsating, red tomatoes. He felt the comforting weight of the Ginsu knife in his hand. In the distance a cricket chirped although it was not really that far away.
Ed walked down the yard and entered the garden. Almost immediately, the muscular green tendrils of the mutant tomato plants began to wave toward him; seeking, feeling. Ed slashed at them with the knife and they fell to the ground twitching. Soon, the entire garden was alive with movement. The tomato plants tugged and writhed against the twist-ties that held them to their bamboo supports. One plant freed itself, pulled up from the ground and began to totter toward him. Ed readied himself and, as he was about to attack, a thick tendril wound itself around his ankles. He fell in the dirt, the knife slipping from his grip, and the tomato plant tottered closer and closer. Remembering, he pulled the potato peeler from his pocket and began to shave thick slices of greenness from the tendril around his ankles. He felt it weaken, writhing and snap.
He was up in a heartbeat. With the Ginsu knife newly in his grasp, he attacked knowing that his life depended on it. In the bright afternoon sun, the Ginsu knife flashed as he stabbed and sliced. More tomato plants converged on him but he continued to fight. The ground was littered with perfectly sliced and diced tomatoes and tendrils, like lopped off limbs, oozed their icky viscousness into the ground. And then it was over. Ed had beaten the mutant tomatoes.
He gathered the tomato pieces into a small bowl and returned to the house.
“Ed? Did you fetch some tomatoes from the garden for me, dear?” asked his grandmother from another room.
“Yes Gran!”, returned Ed, “But I think I’ve lost my appetite for today.”
“Oh! Dear! Are you getting sick?”, said his Grandmother appearing in the kitchen, “Well, I’ll just make you a nice tomato soup to make you feel better. Could you go and get me a couple more?”