The wheels spun wildly as Mutiso sped down the hill. Mutiso’s bare chest leading the way pressing against the gushing breeze which seemed to harden his abs, defining a neat six-pack on his sinewy frame. His dirty and faded green trousers, torn at the knee, flapped widely only held together by a sisal rope serving as
Sukuta sat on the ground head bobbing between his spread legs. His right arm rested on his right knee wielding a machete with crimson blood steadily dripping on to the dust near his feet. His son passed out on his lap, his face pale and dirty, his mouth dry and ashy, is arms and legs
The leaves in the trees rustled, towering high in the sky looking down on the ant sized human. Birds flew from tree to tree singing, whistling; calling their young. The sun spilled through the trees oozing in warmth that made the dew on the leaves glisten like diamonds. The air was icy, rich, refreshing, completely