Footsteps hittin’ gravel hard. Dirt an’ rocks crunchin’ under mud-soaked Nikes. Red ants runnin’ long the red and rusty ground, clamberin’ beneath scuffed feet.
An’ there I was: crouched behind an orange tree – target locked in sight, fingers wound tight round too-ripened fruit. Deep breath in, an’…
Sticky orange ran down the side of me face. Me ears grew red. There was a laughter.
I picked up a rotting orange and turned toward them.
The chase began again.