The Groundhog Diaries. 09–09–2023.

Another little story.

The Savour.

He woke up that morning and made up his mind. Or he looked out the window and suddenly found out how clear his thoughts were.

It just clicked into place.

Looking across the river to the city, he saw the buildings for they were.

A machine. Just a machine.

Sliding open the balcony door he stopped out and felt the cool air hor his naked skin. Never had something felt so right. He wasn't naked, he was just the way nature intended. Needed, even.

Then there was the machine across the way. A grinding, demanding, ugly thing. All those glistening windows and steel columns that demanded to be fed, so to speak.

The city was a living, breathing dictator. Rules and regulations. Laws and demands. It wasn't freedom. It was not 'living'.

It was an existence to feed the machine. Live, work, die.

He closed his eyes and felt the wind on himself. He breathed the air in, inhaling it long and deep.

Everything is a choice, he thought. A choice to live or a choice to die. He heard the sounds, cars, a plane, and among it, was the people. The lifeblood of the machine. Eat, sleep and work.

The prisoners of the machine.

He let out a breath, opened his eyes and smiled.