Freedom

‘Do you know what a red sun means?’ asked Blu, tilting his head up to the sky and closing his eyes.

‘Not a clue.’

‘Freedom,’ he breathed slowly, savouring each syllable. ‘A red sun means rain, Pip, glorious rain.’

Blu always hatched wild plans to get us out. I’m not sure if he actually wanted to escape, but he loved planning it. He would dangle the carrot in front of his own nose every day and never bite it. One day, he might be stupid enough to try, and I want to be there for it. He’s got as good a chance as anyone.

‘It’s simple,’ he continued. ‘We wait for the rain to come and loosen the soil, then we dig and slide through the mud, under the fence, and onto freedom.’

‘Wouldn’t the hole just fill itself with the mud and water?’

‘We’d find something to reinforce it.’

This went on for some time.

We continued to debate as they corralled us inside.

We discussed the equipment we’d use as the clouds filled the sky.

We decided on which safe houses we’d run to as the rain began to trickle.

And as the thunder roared and the rain came gushing down, we wondered what food we would eat for our first freedom meal.

I chose steak.

Blu chose ice cream, just like always.