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Where's home for you? You slouch and glance sideways at the question because it has become a strange one. You bundle and hunch forward in your seat ears taxed from the noise because they've become strange ones.
It's funny, in that sad sort of way, but we didn't really start to go insane until after society had collapsed. You'd think it would be the other way around-that insanity would be necessary for a civilization to implode. But I think it was all that sanity that did us in-sanity in the water, handed out in the school nurse's office, colorful blobs in little paper cups.
She opened the door. The metaphorical door, that is; caves don't have doors-or trapdoors, for that matter, but we'll come to that later. Caves have narrow, crooked maws that leak out into the hill side and gobble up light. Even a casual observer might note that the entrance to this cave looked very little like a door, and much more like the wide half-moon of an opera stage.
Static in a stiff wind The whites are hanging Like small children Stepped out of line Snagged in the whim of Eurus Resisting some Eleusinian pull Hanging on one more day Their pins as real as their voices.