ELEVEN HOURS

This regimented fascism is wearing on me fast.  We house ourselves in a long, cemented bunker with very little heat.  I toil in a back room warehouse, boxing up product, driving to undisclosed locations to pick up more product.  The days, pass, dark to dark.  Our progress at the end of the day is checked, then rechecked to make sure we’ve done what is expected.  My only companion, Gerard, is a slow-witted mountain who constantly cuts me down and berates me at every turn.  I’m not sure if he’s on my side or reports my every move to them.  Rules which were once commonplace are swiftly changed on a bi-weekly basis to assure that we are kept confused and beaten-down.

 

One day I shall get out of here, but it won’t be any day I can see for now.  Blood will spill, I can say that much.




-SLL