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Remember, Remember
Every year they burn a Guy in our village. We all gather
round, young and old in the dark autumn night. Tall shadows. Smiling faces in
the blazing amber glow. Hot dogs and mugs of steaming tea, enjoying the crackle
and pop of the burning wood.
And the screams of the Guy. The sizzle of his scorched
flesh. Roasting meat.
There’s always someone to be made an example of. A
dissident, a traitor to be sent screaming to hell.
This year it’s going to be my son. I feel no sadness, he was
caught reading banned literature and must die.
