Again

Now and again the man comes round to check on us. He doesn’t need to, but habit is habit after all, so we still see him every so often. The dingy hole of a place that we live in always leaves him with a slightly constipated look on his face though, but its not as if its his fault; or ours.

We are down to the last pair of carrots now and I can’t bear to look at the cabbage supply. We should make it a couple more weeks, but it’ll be close. The night is ending again and soon the sun will rise.

The hole is getting cold with the new light, the warmth of the night clouds leaking out into the air. We are so quiet that badgers stick their heads straight in when looking for a new home, only to turn and run at the first sight of us. I hug my knees.

Soon we will leave again, seize again the levers of power, and again rule the fatherland. Praise be to the progenitors, who brought us here so long ago.

Song’s Whist writing

Paperhouse – Can

Halleluhwah - Can