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My dad burnt the toast this morning. I came into the kitchen and saw the cup of tea fall from his trembling hands. Then he was crying among the fragments, piecing nothing together. He said I was ungrateful. I had a bad night last night. It was hard to sleep. The air felt heavy. I was warm and dry for the first time in a long while. It made me think back and I got confused. Dreams and memories came mixed together. I saw a black crow fly against a pink sky. In a dark room among big statues somebody called you. They were wrapped in dirty bandages. You answered in words I didn't understand. You went to them in the shadows. This morning I'm not so hungry. Somebody told me there's people who live in their dreams. For them it's life that isn't real. I saw your skin again last night it was clear and white. The smell was in my nose and my stomach was tight. Mr Scaggs appeared from over the heap of the hill and he was richer than any of us with copper wire he'd found in a secret place! People said he should share it like we'd agreed but he wouldn't. He said he'd have a bed that night. He laughed and said his belly would be full. Then he shook the copper at them. They got mad and fought him. Then someone picked up a stone and hit him. And then they all did. Mr Scaggs got mashed up really bad and his head was all over the place. I got sick then. I wish there was somewhere I could go. My arms and my legs weren't mine any more. The worse thing was that -- not the loss of my money -- my legs, my eyes they were no longer mine. My sex drew back into itself tight and dry, closed up. I could not make my thoughts. I'm scared that there's nowhere different. They said they'll be clearing this place out soon. Where can we go. I crave solitude. My hope and wishes recede. I only want not to be. There was a dark green tree in the corner with some big yellow flowers in front of it. You kicked a ball over the fence. There's got to be one breath after which there doesn't come another.