Jenna stepped out of the car, the machete in her right hand. It felt heavy in a way gym weights never did. Heavy with potential. Heavy with the knowledge that she could, if she swung it wrong, remove her own shin.
She clicked ‘reserve for collection’ before she could talk herself out of it. machete knife screwfix
She drove to the bramble-choked lane behind her rented cottage. The ivy had swallowed the fence. The blackberry canes had reached out like claws across the path to the shed where the fuse box kept tripping. A tree surgeon had quoted £400. She had £47. Jenna stepped out of the car, the machete in her right hand