I noticed a strange thing today: the grass is all yellow along the side of the street. The grass is never all yellow along the side of the street. I looked through my old photos, and it’s always been browny-green.
HORROR: There’s something down there, I think, some sleeping monstrosity tucked under the sod. Its bad dreams have poisoned the grass.
SCI-FI: Most folks haven’t noticed yet, but that grass is a sign. The yellowing, we call it, us in the know. Next year’ll be yellower, and the year after that. It’s hot out here, too hot, and we’re withering at our roots.
ROMANCE: That yellow reminds me of distant Al Sol, where I met Sheikh Faisal Ayad, and we fell in love.
YA DYSTOPIAN: Green grass is reserved for the Elites up top. Their toes are special. Their toes deserve soft, cushiony grass, bright green and fragrant, dotted with flowers.
URBAN FANTASY: I haven’t seen real grass in so long, even the yellow kind feels like a treat.
NURSERY RHYME: If all the grass is dead and gone, what shall I lay my head upon? What gentle moss, what hollow tree? What refuge soft shall cradle me?
POST-APOCALYPTIC SURVIVAL HORROR: The grass is yellow. That’s bad. Either some massive dog’s pissed down the whole verge, or those stalks baked to death.
THRILLER/NOIR: The grass is dead, yellow, like the rest of this town. I’ve got to get out of here, but I’ve nowhere to go. Nowhere’s safe now. Nowhere’s green; nowhere’s good.
MR. BOOSE: When grass goes yellow, that means it’s dry.
SOMEONE WATER THE GRASS.