It’s a calm winter morning, the Sun isn’t shining and the snow is four inches deep. How fun! Now, you got home from vacation about one-two weeks ago from Las Vegas, where you met a kind Uber driver. Maybe you’ll see him again. But now, you’re back home, with a plant killer on the loose.. Shasta Chirmann.

You’re decent friends and mostly just communicate through Facebook or on rarer occasions, the actual built in Messages app on both of your phones. However, ever since you’ve gotten home, Shasta and you have become enemies. He doesn’t even know.. Why? Well, he didn’t water your houseplants like you told him to almost eight times, maybe even nine. Now, you’re out for revenge. Like, very mischevious revenge. You just sorta woke up mischevious this morning, basically.

However, in these early morning hours, it’s just best to slow down for the morning. After all, he should get his mail in the late afternoon hours, not early morning. So, you’d finish the last of unpacking your belongings from the Las Vegas trip, do the dishes, and even take the trash out to the garbage can. After heading back inside, you’d lounge for a while. Doomscrolling on your phone was never more addicting. After swiping for a long time and looking at almost every video on the internet imaginable, you’d set your phone down and look at the time. A quarter past one, or 1:25 PM. With that, you’d get up and grab your trusty winter coat from your room and put on your other winter accessories. Finally, you’d step up to the door and look out the window.

After scoping out the area and balling up a snowball, you’d set it inside the cold mailbox and close it. Once you head inside, you’d wait for Shasta to come get his own mail. A few hours later, he’d come out with the same green sweatshirt he wears daily. Although, it could use a good washing. Like, seriously. It looks to have been stained with relish not once, not twice, but four different times. All on different parts. What a messy labrador.

Coming out from your home, Shasta would notice you and wave a simple hello. You’d ignore him and go for your mailbox, pretending to get the mail. Secretly, you’d grab the concealed snowball out of the mailbox and pack on some extra snow for some extra oomph. However, you’d quickly check your actual mail. Electrical bill, brochure, letter from grandma, and a letter from the court. You’ll read that last one later. You’d turn to Shasta, who was grabbing some sort of heating bill out, and attempt to aim for the letter, or atleast the mailbox. Aim, steady, FIRE!

…Well, well, well. You hit him in the back of the head. Great move, man. Way to go. “Ack!?!” He’d exclaim, brushing the snow off of his fur a few moments after getting hit. “What were you thinking?!” He’d yell at you, clearly annoyed. “What was that even for!?” He’d yell before you even had a chance to answer him. “Well?! What do you even have to say for yourself?” He’d ask, a little less angry. After all, it was a snowball. Not a rock.