I waited on the corner, coins jangling in my pocket, the changing colours of the traffic light reflecting red, amber, green, amber, red in the fresh puddles at my feet. And sure enough, from the distance, the bright lights of the weekly FriFic bus approached, bang on time. Rochelle opened the door, bade me hop in and showed me this week’s prompt:
I found an empty seat at the rear, pulled out my laptop and wrote 100 words:
When the first fences were built they were ten feet high. But people climbed over.
Then twenty feet high. But people dug underneath.
Then began regular sentries; some on foot, some in vehicles, but always armed and ready to shoot on sight. But people broke through between patrols.
Then came the watchtowers. But some still ran and took their chances avoiding the searchlights.
Then came the mines.
The escapes stopped.
The high fences came down but the mines and the fear remained.
I hear it whispered that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. Sometimes that fear is enough.