The Grinders

We worked so hard to get here, climbed so high, ran so long, reached so far.  Finally, we settle into comfortable molds.  Everything’s going to be fine at last.  We can rest.

But something is wrong.  We don’t quite fit into the spaces.  There are parts of us hanging out over the sides.

I look up at the enormous weight hovering above and panic.  If they close that lid, parts of me will be cut off forever.  “Wait!” I say.  Where are the attendants?

I’m not the only one.  All around me, I hear growing, desperate whimpers of others.  Realization came too slowly for change.  Who is running this place anyway?

I hear the hard crash of a lid somewhere down the line of pods.  Someone screams his agony, then quiets.

I lift my head as far out as I can.  I can just barely see the closed pod, with a pool of imagination around it on the floor.

This isn’t right.  We have to escape.


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