On Your Toes

[Sideliner*]

(Lenny continued from Second Verse, Same As The First)

Lenny trudged through the ankle-high grass, drained and numb, his stick barely balancing on his fingertips. The threat of an ambush mumbled in the back of his head, but his own body's limits were screaming gibberish over his fears.

His head lifted wearily, and he saw a big wall, brown, bushes at the bottom of the base. Not much of a hiding spot, but he didn't care. He just didn't care.

Lenny stumbled on over, through all the grass, and dropped his stuff near the bushes. He laid flat on his back, eyes still open, but still ready to close for an hour or two.

[Sideliner*]

So tired. So tired. Fears of the boy's friends, fears of gun barrels getting jabbed into his gut chattered in Lenny's skull, but Lenny's aching body wouldn't have any of it. His belongings semi-hidden in the shade, Lenny closed his eyes wholly and went to sleep.

---

His eyes opened wide an hour later. He wasn't dead. No bullets. No knives. No rocks. Looked to the back of him. Stick was still there. Bag was still there.

Lenny stood up straight, walked over to his stuff, and picked it up. He walked...he walked into the forest again.

(Lenny continued in Vomit On The Bedsheets)