Asier slung his tongue over his shoulder like a swollen, bruised bandolier. He only had the remnants of a rousing chorus. A chorus that echoed in the forest. Consonants ping-ponging from between the branches of the highest trees, swinging from the overgrown canopies. Vowels ooooing and aaaaaing and uuuuuing in their callous tussles with structure. Adjectives hidden in the ground under piles of burnt sticks, jagged rocks, monkey shit. Verbs like mosquitoes biting when he stepped. Soon the nouns would shudder and heave and fall like the others.
(illustration by moleskinex56)