Water bottle murder

From out of the blue a conjection of noise filled the small courtyard. I peered from my balcony to see what caused the resulting commotion but couldn’t ascertain any visual evidence of the fracas. The greens keeper’s voice filling the atmosphere with baffled cries of desperation. I ran down to offer what feeble assistance I could muster, I’m not very practical and anything beyond folding and stapling paper was above my expertise. Puffing and panting as I arrived by his side, exhausted by my descent of the multiple staircases I had just traversed. I was expecting torn limbs, and rivers of crimson to confront me, horrific sights of an arduous battle of flesh against machine. But the scene that confronted me was visually calm, like walking in on a radio play of all noise with no movement. Grabbing the groundskeeper by his shoulder I shook him lightly and demanded to know he was alright. For fortunate he was, but it was a bottle of water that had received the wrath of the mulching machine. Flinging sharded plastic into the hard gravelly surface of the courtyard emanating tiny crackles and pings as it struck the bluestone. I told him to get back to work and next time unless it’s a finger or more keep the noise down or there would be disciplinary action