rattles's snakepit

Place for rattlesrattles's bullshit.


A letter, plucked from a dusty floor in a distant corner of the Library.


Spring has come again to our home. The snows swiftly fade, and the rains return. I walk again in the fields of the schools where we grew up. I have time to visit only in the evens, so the children are all home with their mothers, and the schools are empty.

You'll be glad ot know that sledding hills we so loved are still intact. When the warders paved in the blocks, they decided to leave the hills in place and not level them for another school lot.

When I stand on the crest of the hill, I can almost see the horizon. The new schools can be counted distinctly from that height, each grey concrete box with its own patch of green, enclosed in its own steel walls.

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