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with nature. He paused in the midst of the trees and inhaled deeply, expecting a beautiful natural smell.

The area smelled like a tire yard. John frowned in disappointment and poked around the smaller plants. No pigs lived here, that much became apparent fast.

John bent down towards the ground, making his way around the various bits of decomposing trash left behind by past visitors. There was no recent activity evident. He was beginning to think he had the wrong area when his attention was captured by a strange sparkle of light in a nearby bush.

The fallen leaves gave way under his hands, revealing the source of the sparkle - and the source of the pig's flight.

It was a jewel-encrusted slingshot.

He picked up the fabulous item. It was small, light, and strong, and though it seemed ridiculous that such a thing could send a pig flying, he knew in his heart that it had. The slingshot had a fascinating aura about it.

John walked out of the tree clump, confident that he had found what he was looking for. Dazzling sunlight sprayed across the jewels as he left the shade of the outermost tree, giving the slingshot the appearance of royal treasure. But then something snaked down and grabbed John by the back. He felt his body lift into the air, and for one irrational moment, he thought some sort of giant steel trap, dangling from a tree branch, had caught him.

"And where have you been, my young friend?" The voice of pure ice chased away all conjecture - he was being held aloft in Slate's iron grip.

"Oh, I'm just one of those damn hippy treehuggers, dontcha know." John hoped he didn't sound as terrified as he felt, but he realized with a sinking feeling that the very tall, extremely menacing man would know anyway.

Slate released his grip without warning, and after the unpleasant business of John's rump hitting the ground, a man on a bicycle rode up and screeched to a stop. He wore the prim green park caretaker's uniform like a badge of honor. The caretaker looked at them, his red face jerking back and forth as though timed by some internal metronome.

"What's all the hoopla?" he demanded.

"We're just, ah, hangin'," Slate said. He kicked John.

"Oh, yeah, I was just in those trees, and I uhm picked up some litter." John held the slingshot out, hoping his hand would obscure its beauty from the inquisitive caretaker.

Slate gasped. "Where did you" He looked to the caretaker. "I, uh, that is to say, what kind of monster would litter in a beautiful park like this?"

The caretaker eyed him

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