i really like this short story so thought I would re-blog it

TimMaidment.Com

The first birdsong of the morning lasted maybe three seconds. Then some bugger cast a hex that turned the poor blackbird into something vaguely resembling a week old jelly. It landed with a wet splat on our windowsill.

The sudden silence was broken by one of the guards beside me chuckling and nudging me in the ribs. He pointed to Private Westerhouse, who seemed to be suddenly struggling to keep his breakfast down. I reflected that we were perhaps awful, jaded people to not be suffering the same reactions.

“Where do you think they are?” Robson, my rib-nudger-in-chief said. He was affecting a casual glance out the window, but I could see him paying close attention to a number of likely hiding places. He was a veteran of the Great Re-Indexing, and was under no illusions about the danger we were in.

Outside, the dawn had yet to break, and…

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