India Wilson
India writes with a strong voice. This not only comes from her subject matter but also the length of her sentences.
It was our place, no one else’s. Just ours. The freedom was real – no locks and chains, just a gentle snow freely falling on the old tin roof. We felt safe. We had a lot of time to think these days, after what had happened. We were all alone, all five of us: Ethan and Ruby were snuggling up in the corner throwing kisses around like they didn’t care who was watching. Lee was reading but drifting in and out of sleep. Margaret was staring into nothing.
We’ve been living here now for several months. Food is scarce. I used to constantly pull the basket up and down everyday in case someone thought of us and put food in it. The boys I hunted while Rube and Margret foraged for in the snow for berries. The trees wove around us like they were protecting – who would after what we had done? But it was reasonable. We wanted free minds. Running away from blanketed minds with their eyes shut and imagination cut away from life. Everything was black, white or brown – no colour, no opinions. We
wanted freedom: freedom of speech, colour, imagination and love. You were not allowed love, everyone had to be alone.
India Wilson
We’ve been living here now for several months. Food is scarce. I used to constantly pull the basket up and down everyday in case someone thought of us and put food in it. The boys I hunted while Rube and Margret foraged for in the snow for berries. The trees wove around us like they were protecting – who would after what we had done? But it was reasonable. We wanted free minds. Running away from blanketed minds with their eyes shut and imagination cut away from life. Everything was black, white or brown – no colour, no opinions. We
wanted freedom: freedom of speech, colour, imagination and love. You were not allowed love, everyone had to be alone.
India Wilson
