Disease

William had curled himself up like a
frightened hedgehog. I was rolled in
a ball below the kitchen table. I wondered
if Uncle was really so toxic, so dangerous.
Surely he meant well by bringing us food.
It was such a shame our protectress was
in hospital. But Mrs Eames wasn’t going
to get well in a hurry. I needed to make
the right decisions. William and I would
stay hidden. We wouldn’t answer the
door to anyone. I would rush out before
dawn and buy eggs and bread and milk.
I would transform our home into an
impregnable fortress. We would hole up,
like some fatal disease was scouring the
earth.

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Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist

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