Every blade of grass had been accounted for. It was not a large patch of lawn, and the clear night sky meant that the moon was bright enough for Jack to count them individually. In the early night sky, he could see that the blades were all a deep lush shade of green, but Jack's experience told him that it was all about to change. Jack's was an extremely responsible job, and one that he took very seriously.

As he sat by the edge of the lawn, Jack knew that his work would shortly commence. It was getting late as the hustle and bustle of the community started to quieten down. He looked up to see where the moon was positioned in the night sky.

Now it was time.

The temperature had dropped suddenly and dramatically as Jack got up and made his way onto the lawn. One by one the blades of grass turned from the deep shade of green to bright white as he trapped them. Once he had snared them all, Jack made himself comfortable, ready to remain in that position until the morning sin rose to revive them from their frosty coma. There was always the chance that the sun would not rise, and Jack would stay holding them all until the warm air arrived.

The blades of grass would survive his presence so long as Jack stayed on top of the lawn. Jack had heard stories that to kill the blades you had to tunnel underground and place the roots in the frosty coma instead. Jack couldn't bring himself to even try out the theory-he liked and respected the blades too much for that-they had an understanding. Jack would have to leave soon anyway-the warm air had started to arrive-if he left it too late then the warm air would rise up and swiftly kill him.