Broken Crayons

by on December 11th, 2010
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The moon is large on a cloudless night as we walk down the long hall to the cafeteria. We are a group of survivors. We do not stay long in one spot. We’re not all related, but now we’re a family.

What happened: none of us is certain about. Some have stories to share about those last days but not one is a first hand experience. The tales told by strangers along the way are re-told as if they were the ones that experienced it themselves. The truth of it is that something big and bad happened, but we have only seen the results first hand.

In the cafeteria the children sit at the long tables. They color in coloring books we’ve either fond on our journey or they had with them when all of our lives changed forever. The crayons are just pieces of crayons we keep in a small box. We would have gotten rid of it all if not for the fact it keeps them occupied while we consider where to go next.

We cannot stay here. There are signs of bandits. Bandits are groups of men looking for food and whatever else they desire.

This misery we know live was most certainly caused by those that once held the power: the corporations. Their greed has led to suffering: our suffering. Where are these cowards that caused this: safely tucked away in their underground bunkers waiting for it to be safe to return to the surface.

We round up the crayons. It’s time to move on to another place in hopes of finding safety and food.


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