Morris always watered the plants on collection day.
Bright sunlight shined through the small two story home’s living room bay windows providing a healthy glow on the leaves of the ferns that covered the interior windowsill. A solar beam continued on into the room, resting gently on the worn couch that sat in front of the small television on the wall. Rainbows danced under the glass side table that had a small coffee cup on it, cold dregs lining the bottom. Otherwise bare white walls held a couple of painting depicting forests and hills, trees and grass. Hovering by the ferns was a short, fat man wearing a brown waistcoat and tweed jacket; his green watering can dripping life-giving water onto the leaves. His well polished shoes reflected the sun as did the gold chain that hung out of his coat pockets and his brown hair was parted neatly. The stream of water stopped as Morris tilted the can up and adjusted his glasses, peering out the window to his small front garden surrounded by a perfectly maintained picket fence; a stone path leading up to the house breaking the well manicured lawn in two identical sections. Putting down the watering can beside the plants, he removed a small gold watch from his pocket and flicked it open, lifting his glasses up and studying it for a few seconds. A sigh leaked out as he flicked the watch closed and replaced it and his glasses.
Any minute now. Morris picked up the can and wandered around his small house, checking all the plants. The roses were growing well in his small bedroom with it’s wooden double doored wardrobe and neat single bed, but the tulip in the cramped bathroom was drooping. He took it to his pristine kitchen and put it in the light coming in the single window; storing the watering can away for another week. He had barely closed the closet when the doorbell rang. It’s time.
Morris shuffled back into the living room and opened the door. On the step was a figure shorter even than himself. Wearing a black suit with an newly ironed white shirt and black tie, his hair was slicked back revealing a receding hairline and he carried a small clipboard and a briefcase. Small sharp eyes sat above a slightly downwards hooked nose and a his chin jutted out unhindered by fat. He looked down at his clipboard and then back up at Morris.
“Mr… Roberts?”
Morris made eye contact with the man and stood up a little straighter. “Yes. Are you the new Collector? I was told there would be a new Collector this week.”
The Collector narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded once, looking back down at the clipboard. “Can you confirm for the record please that you are currently unmarried with no descendants?”
“Yes, the same as last week.”
“Can you confirm that you are unable to afford the weekly fee in monetary value?”
“No. I mean, yes, I don’t have ten thousand dollars.” Morris straightened his back a little bit further and folded his arms. “I don’t see how you need to ask the question. Every week you try to shame me by asking.”
The Collector looked back up, eyebrows raising. “It’s policy sir. I have no intentions other than completing our transaction as soon as possible.” He flicked a switch on the briefcase and four protrusions extended to the ground. He flipped the lid up and revealed a stack of papers, perfectly piled edge to edge as well as a small metal object. He put the clipboard down on the pile of papers and picked up the object. It was about the size of a deck of cards, edges rounded with a circular indent in the top. “Please insert …”
Morris unfolded his arms and placed the middle finger on his left hand into the indent. “I have done this before.”
There was a moment of silence as the Collector looked at him. “… the middle finger of your left hand into the Collect-tin. Thank-you.” There was a buzz and a tiny spark flashed in the air. Morris removed his finger. The Collector closed his briefcase and took the handle once more as the legs retracted. “Thank you. A Collector will be back in one week.” He turned and started walking down the path.
“You don’t need to tell me. Of course I know that you’ll be back. We wouldn’t want the Government to miss out, now would we?”
The man stopped, his back bending slightly. Turning his head back to look at Morris, his eyes were almost sad. “Just doing my job, sir.”
As the Collector opened the small gate and walked through, Morris Roberts felt the dizziness that always followed a collection. Closing the door behind him, he shuffled to his couch and sat down. Sunlight on the plants caught his eye, and he took them in. Three years forty-two weeks left. Maybe I’ll win the lottery. He snorted in humorless laughter. I wonder who’ll take care of my plants?