In my bedroom, on the dresser, I have a pot plant. It isn't the usual sort of thing - not some pretty flower, or a miniature cactus. Its just a clump of grass. Want to know why?

I'll tell you.

I was lying in bed a few weeks ago. A Saturday. It was only 10 a.m. but Mum said I was lazy, and that I should get up.

"There's jobs to do!" she said, "You've got the lawns. Remember?"

How could I not remember? Mum told me to do the lawns every Saturday morning. Nag nag nag. And every Saturday I hoped it would ram. I'd lie there, with the sun streaming into my untidy, messed-up room, and I'd pray for a big storm. I'd imagine the clouds rolling in, black, and grey, like cauliflower, boiling and bubbling, and lightning flashing like an arc welder. The thunder would burst like a million cannons, shaking the world. In my mind I could hear the big drops of rain hammering on the roof. The guttering would spray out, the lawn would turn into a pool... and I'd stay in bed. Smiling smugly.

But it never happened. With my luck, the storms would come during the week. I'd sit in class, wishing it wasn't Tuesday, or Wednesday, or whatever. "Why couldn't you come on Saturday? Why? Why? Why?"

But this morning I was thinking about a dream I'd had. It was the weirdest dream in a long time, and I couldn't forget it.

"Please! Let us live!"

That's what I heard in my dream. Over and over. Thousands of voices, all calling out to me.

"Who are you?" I said in my dream.

"We are the grass!" said the voices.

"What?" I said.

"We are the little shoots of grass in your lawn! We are the tender green shoots! We want to grow, but every time we lift ourselves up from the soil our heads are cut off!"

"But grass can't talk!" I said.

"Not all grass is the same!" said the thousands of voices together, "We are a special kind of grass. We have minds. We can think. We want to grow to our full