Someplace Hopscotch Saves

Hopscotch sits on a split tree wrapped with a pink ribbon. He sips off some Old No. 7. He flicks flecks of caked dirt off of his Ariats down a mudbank into an artificial ravine, wider than a highway, for water, rushing below to yonder beyond the border of his family’s allotment. On the opposite bank, a forklift shovels its metal-spork aground, splitting rocks from their bed. It tracks as a tank cutting switchbacks to the crest of the great gully. A row of jumbled bark, treetrunk corpses, stretches there, as a wall.
The work’s gone on long enough without any retaliation.

The author has rated this movella as yellow, meaning it is inappropriate for users under the age of 13.
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