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Burnt Leaves

By SilverLuna, _________, WA

A small town farm boy curled, hidden by a thicket of forest knots, hides from the silver fish that seem smarter then he at the moment. Flashing their scales smartly at him, the mocking splashes of water whip the lily pads about as if the miniscule pond were instead a roaring ocean carrying miniature sailors home on a rocky green boat. The green branch he had robbed of a tree earlier in the almost-dawn darkness bends back and forth with the force of the storm below the water, his body tensing with every jerk, the movement of the fish making his mouth water. There was food at home, plenty of it in fact, but the hunt was what attracted him to this place. A challenge that seemed more realistic then any of the math homework that awaited him at the house.

Blue liquid leaps up on its own accord, splashing his naturally handsome face with brackish water that smells of his would-be meal; the insult has been taken, now for revenge.

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