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A quote: “He that rebels against reason is a real rebel, but he that in defence of reason rebels against tyranny has a better title to Defender of the Faith, than George the Third.” ~~ Thomas Paine
I’ll start with a story …
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We are all the same.
I watched it come. The promise of a full belly and soft bed just because was too tempting.
I eat, but I don’t get to choose my meals. Nor what I listen to or read or …
My room is neat and clean. :::sigh:::
I crave … color, form … I miss so much I’m not to miss. Maybe the young ones don’t miss what they never had but I’m old. So I sneak out into the empty field next door and pick the wild flowers and plot a little dissent. Soft beds are over-rated.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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.featured image, cropped, Adobe Stock standard license
The flowers hang from the ceiling, salt in the wounds of my loss. I have no doubt my captors put them there deliberately, even if I’ve had no interaction with them since my arrest.
Food arrives daily via a slot in the door. What little there is, and that foul-smelling and looking more like a cat tossed her cookies on the tray. By willpower I force it down, trying not to think of the gardens they trampled, the beans and the squash and the tomatoes that were just ripening to harvest.
I have no idea what the charges against me will be. I may never find out.
I only know that they cut all my flowers and hung them just out of reach, perhaps considering themselves modern-day Olympians punishing one they view as Tantulus.
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