“Most men and women will grow up to love their servitude and will never dream of revolution.” —Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Sitting at my desk, head down, the papers rustle in the wind from the open window. Distractedly, I put out one hand to hold them down, until the breeze passes, and type with one hand.
Hours later the sun burns on my back through opaque panes of glass. Distractedly, I put out one hand to tug on the vertical blind cord, and return both hands to my keyboard.
I stretch, and sigh, muscles cold, hard – frozen into their habitual crouch. The display fades into my screen saver.
The sun shines on a field of yellow daisies that ripple in the wind.