STORY — KEVIN WILLARD

The air is dark and heavy with with ash. The wind is picking up speed.

He nervously looks down at the mountain before him. His freakishly large feet hang over the edge. Sweat claims every inch of his undershirt.

the forest starts to burn.

The refugee child pounds the front door with her hurry-up fists. “Let me in!”, she screams. The angry mob shouts from the other side, “If you weren’t born here, you don’t belong here!”

“But I have chicken.”

everyone deserves a bite.

humankind always finds a way to defy the odds.

We have to go. Jack’s birthday party started over an hour ago.