SUBJECT // anne oakheart // amarantic florist //

THEORY POTENTIAL // damp //

I don't want to scream. I don't want to be frozen. I want to wake up and see my husband's face and hear my son's voice. I don't want this dirty little Muurian girl to be shouting at me. I don't want her filthy hand on me, I don't want her stench in my nostrils. I don't want to be running behind her. I don't want to be chased. I want to be home. I want to apologise to Mr Higgs, it's not important, I should have listened, I want to smile at Fox when she walks by, I want to close my eyes and let the flowers fill me with each deep breath.

I don't want any of this to be happening to me.

I don't want my arm to hurt or my legs to burn.

I don't want to be so horribly tired.

I don't want to run.

I don't want anything.