The Fog Catchers 007
Dear anybody. Summer here. And my birthday. 16 now. Jake’s helping me with the fog catching. And transferrals. And selling, and so on.
I guess we’re a “thing”. That is, we’ve had some “moments”. But nothing serious. Not yet. Not sure what I want to happen.
Fog in, fog out. Yeah, you know. The night leaving visions on a wounded net, criss-crossed by stitches. Getting by, making good.
Oh. Oh God, I don’t know what to say, or do… something terrible has happened. It’s dad. He’s…
Well. Here I am. Hospital. My father’s in ward 6. Cracked ribs, bruised all over. He was lucky. That’s what the doctor said. Lucky.
The flat was broken into. Two guys. They went on at dad, shouting at him, demanding, threatening. He was drunk, of course, and…
And they beat him up. And then they trashed the place. Everything just thrown around, scattered. A couple of images taken.
Just that. Images. And not even pictures: but words, fragments of text, messages from the past. Why? Why are they doing this?
Leave us alone! That’s all. That’s all I’m asking. Whoever you are. Just… just leave us alone.