“Damn!” said Jared, slicing off the end of his big toe.

Why was he even working in the jungle, clearing away over and undergrowth, was beyond him. How was this bringing the day of revolution closer?

Machete. The word just breathed revolution, at least to someone who had never had to use one in mundane tasks.

Someday he would escape his mother’s ranch and do something worthwhile. If only she knew he was grown up already at 15.

He slowly realized he was in his own bed. “You fainted when you cut off your toe”, his mother said.