The Inconstant Gardener

He turned away from the lovely pink-red dahlias, put down his secateurs, picked up his old copy of Greyfriars Bobby and sat back in his deck chair, taking a sip of Tizer and settling in for a good read, though he knew in this heat that it might turn into a nap. As he began the fourth page, a titanium fist suddenly smashed into his face with monstrous force. He thought he felt his skull fracture and sag inwards, but he had no time to be sure as the fist smashed in again and again and kept on coming with robotic relentlessness, quickly pounding its way through the entire front of his skull and into his brain, through that too and all the way out of the back of his head.