30 May 2012
It was just a little country lane, in an Essex green belt town. Quiet and elderly neighbours, jostling for the 'Best Garden' crown.
He was a hermit and a loner. (though married and with two kids.). People heard he had lost the plot, that he'd one day flipped his lid.
His dogs where giant monsters. (though the biggest one is soft, the same can't be said for the other one, who would tear your testicles off!).
His garden was one big booby-trap, with hidden spikes and spears. Brambles and Pyro-camphor, natures own cruel engineers.
Ramparts and fortifications, and a semi-bunker/shed. Surrounded by a million thorns that could tare the skin to shreds.
Hidden fencing through the privet's as good as razor wire. And again more pyro-camphor, and it's burning kiss of fire.
They snag, they snare, they rip and they tare, natures fortifications grow, into an impenetrable barrier, disguised as a simple hedge row.
It's impossible to move quietly around, the perimeter of the house. Unless you are a Goblin, or a Ninja, or a Mouse.
He doesn't have any spotlights, so you wouldn't know where to tread. While he has you in his red dot sight, night vision goggles on his head.
Wearing stealth black body armour, bullet proof and bringing steel. Releasing the hounds to finish you off, if you came with mind to steal.
An Englishman's home is his Castle. (including the garden and drive). So if anyone should manage to ever break in, they just wouldn't get out alive.
The Fortress • Opuss № I