Wednesday July 18, 2018
A Warm Moist Salty God
They gather us in the camp. All of us strong ones, all of us pretty ones, all of us fat ones, all of us supple ones, all of us bleeding ones. The camp smells like cat food and compost. Some women hold their noses. I don’t want to be that obvious. I plug it from the inside, like Duncan taught me when we were at the cabin and had to shit in the old outhouse. The guards outnumber the women. This is what it’s come to.
“What’s your problem?” Shirley asks a red-headed guard who can’t be more than twenty two. He’s been watching her as she scrubs the floors of the mess hall.
“I don’ got a problem but chu…” He isn’t from here.
“I find it terribly strange that – ” Shirley can’t even get her words out. PhD.
“ENOUGH!” Captain shoots his rifle out the window.