by Rebekah Postupak
written for Monday Mixer
“Pride of the Badlands,” they called the festival, as though passing a law to abandon three thousand miles of rotting cypress translated into a national achievement.
All the locals turned out armed with whisky or Merlot, machetes or bilbos (steak knives for the kids), eager to play their part in history in as gleeful and egalitarian a way possible.
Miss Badlands arrived (finally!) at the region’s sole remaining coppice at midnight, merriment dangling from her lips and a diamond bijou from each delicate earlobe. The more prosaic Mayor Fuddle, dangling only a boy with scrofula on one knee, mumbled something official, and the party exploded.
Mothers hacked joyfully through narrow saplings. Fathers, laughter roaring, hewed trunks barehanded. Trees sank one by one into the earth.
“Down with trees!” some shouted gaily.
“Up with Badlands!” sang others.
All agreed it was the Best. Party. Ever. Until–
“Please,” said the last tree.
150 words, for a contest providing 9 vocab words, requiring a minimum of 3
Overachiever attempt: 8/9 words used