as the dumplings made their way out of the shallow pot, we found ourselves wondering where we had left the cauliflower. it was about this time last year that the butcher led us into that moist room. the dark was thicker than my skin, but i imagine that the fluid i could feel migrating down the cold stone wall would be some shade of green in the daylight. did any of them even remember what daylight was?

"release the prisoners." a steely voice echoed from somewhere down the corridor, but none of us could see past our egos. the charlatans back home would never believe us if we made it out alive. i could still taste the wheaties and the sour milk that was fed to us hours ago. nothing made sense anymore.

did i feel the fire beneath my feet, or did somebody leave the back door open?