Tuesday, September 6, 2016

The Well

The cereal was mushier than usual this morning, but Sharon didn't complain. She shoveled it into her mouth, imitating her usual worker drone attitude: the tallest standing wheat gets cut first. Somehow, that didn't drive a dissonating point home about her closeted meetings with the others, but she reasoned a sane person would wonder what was going on in the world, even if their world were so dark and frightfully small.

So maybe her silence didn't lend itself to apparent sanity, but one could only do so much. And she didn't trust her voice not to shake. If she couldn't keep it still, she wouldn't use it at all. So it was left to the musings of her cellmates whether she even had one at all.

Despite the dumbness, her mind was untamed. It leap from thought to thought less like toads navigating from lilypad to lilypad and more like flies, encapsulated in a cloud of apparent randomness, but nonetheless never colliding with their consummate raindrops.

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