Write about: chains.
Okay, Mejaran is going to be a late visitor this month. I have stuff I need to finish tonight ahead of Max's birthday tomorrow, and I certainly won't have the time or energy for it then either. So likely it will come back around on Sunday.
At which point I will hopefully be able to give it the focus it requires. Crazy little village that it is.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go write my son a birthday present.
Thick silver links snake their way from where they are attached to the wall, disappearing here and reappearing there from beneath mounds of dirt. They continue in this manner until they defy gravity, reaching upward to wrap themselves around my neck.
Chained, like some sort of dangerous dog. Guarding a junkyard, fed just enough to keep me alive but never satisfied. Needing the flesh of trespassers to give me strength.
Perhaps if I sink my teeth into enough foolish flesh I will be strong enough to escape this place.
I should know better than to think such thoughts. I've seen what they do to those of us who become a threat to their tyranny. We are monitored closely and they know the warning signs. Just as one of our number nears that distant threshold, just as hope begins to fill your chest, you wake to find a chain restraining nothing but empty air.
Until those that are taken away are replaced by newcomers.
It is a difficult cycle to bear witness to. I have seen it play out far too many times for my own mental health. But at least I am still alive. That must count for something.
Surely, it must.