Vesna McMaster - Unleashed

The heavy-duty tarpaulin I kept from a Jeep at a wreckers has turned into one of my most prized possessions. Heavy to carry on my nightly climb up into the mountains, but worth it. Bramble thickets are the best places to hide out in. I have several and use them in turn, so my movements won’t become too predictable. The tarpaulin makes things much more comfortable.

They said I was mad, coming up here, a tiny thing like me. What am I going to do? How do I expect to protect myself? Turns out scorpions are deadly regardless of your size, and many of the naysayers have already gone. No forwarding address.

The hunters came earlier and earlier, hoping to catch people asleep. So we left earlier and earlier, until the morning safety slithered down into the night and vanished; so now we don’t stay at night at all. Sleep is not safe.

They could, if they knew. They could get me. But even their dogs, unleashed and slavering through the undergrowth, bamboozled by the streams and the mud, whine and yelp in the distance.

Humans, dogs, desires, hatred, all unleashed. Not quite the dream of creativity one might have hoped for from a general un-muzzling. As subtle and generous as a split atom, rendering up its freed energy.