In the Orange Trees

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’…

Splat!

Fuck!

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.

Raelee Lancaster

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