Tiny Little Pricks

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I woke up in a box. At once felt the oddity around. Tiny soldiers circled around me. They had spears in their hands. They poked me with it. I responded. Stood when they poked me once. Walked when they did it twice. Sat when they scraped my feet. They were mean little pricks. Those bastards!

But they were alright. Because they fed me when I was hungry. Gave me water when I was thirsty. Blankets when I was cold.

It was just that, I didn’t know where I was, or where I was supposed to be. I was just going along with their pricks. I was just answering their pokes. Their stingy nudges that navigated me inadvertently to ‘their’ paths.

I am still doing that now.

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