They came in like diseased eagles; mutated forms of those they wore on their chest and with the change once again in the weather, the ZOMO swooped in to quell what was ‘wrong’, what would bring them down. They run in the streets as well as the miners, running for different reasons and different aims. I look down, out my window and see the army helmets littering the street like rats. Police. Rats. I could no longer see a difference. My father went to work that morning. I clutch my doll knowing the chance of seeing him again is Miniscule. Poor. There is no more cereal in the cupboard; there is no more cereal in the shop; there is no more shop. The ZOMO set it on fire when the word
Solidarity
appeared in the window. “We are closing the border for the safety of the People” Incorrect. Unjustified. For the safety of You, the Elite. “Nine killed in mine shooting” Which side? Only the ZOMO carry guns. Fascism. Communism. I could no longer see a difference