The next piece was written very freely. I did not follow a prompt. I just started with a clearing in the woods, very typical sort of setting used in many stories, and then went where my mind took me. I tried, once I realised where it was taking me, to simply get inside her head, to go with the flow of her thoughts.
It’s just a small clearing in the woods behind the ruined house that was once home, but it is everything.
I come here to rest, to dream, and to plan a life I may never know. I don’t know how the soldiers do not know of this place and I do not care because as soon as I start to wonder about how the soldiers operate I get angry. When I am angry I cannot rest, dream, and plan.
He is different. When he is angry, he thinks more clearly, more bravely, more imaginatively. It is his job to get so angry he figures out how to get us out; it is mine to paint the picture of peace for him to give us hope and something to get out for.
It is quiet here. More quiet than it was when I was a girl. The birds have lost hope as well and this really bothers me but it makes me sad rather than angry. I weep often, but never in front of him.
We have not seen each other in many days but I know that he is safe. I would feel it in my bones if he wasn’t. My older brother used to laugh at me when I said such things. I’m glad they got on. I miss my brother.
We may never get out and we may never be safe. I’ve heard the world is shutting us out, that they don’t care. I don’t know how true this is because I only know such things from snippets of hushed gossip on the streets. Nobody can speak too loudly, otherwise they might have to pay a price.
I have grown used to waiting for him and for the life we may never have. I have grown used to it because you can get used to anything if you have to. At least we aren’t starving yet. Some of the cities are.
I like to sing, quietly, to fill the space birdsong once occupied. Before all this, when we first met, it was my singing he heard first, before he even saw me. It was what drew us together. He sings too. Sometimes it is how we signal to each other, nonsense words strung together on a made up melody, known only to us.
One day we may sing together again but loudly and freely and will be understood by all. We may not. I have hope for now. If it were just me I don’t know if I would, but I do. Last time I saw him, he was really angry.
I just hope he didn’t get too angry. Then even he won’t have been able to think. People die if they get too angry.
I won’t think about that today though. I will just sing and rest and plan and dream.
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