Disturbing cranberry

Squashed. Beyond recognition. Splashed all over the floor. A sight I will never forget. To make it worse, every morning, as I wake up, this splash burns into my eyes.

I scrubbed it for two days. Couldn’t get it clean. Nothing worked. Chemicals are not allowed. We need to think about others. Blah, blah, blah.

This bunker is too small. Too crowded. It welcomes accidents. And they happen every day. Only because owners couldn’t say no.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining. They let me in also. I didn’t even ask for it. Got swept in with a crowd that run away from something.

Some said it was bunnies. Aliens, shouted others. Debates went on and on for weeks. Maybe even months. Heck, I don’t know how long I’ve been here.

Everyone is assuming it’s dangerous outside. That’s why there is a rule. No one goes outside until someone comes to us first.

Does it make sense to you? It doesn’t for me.

We are underground. Who will find us? Who knows we are here? The only way someone will find is by the smell of the rotten bodies.

That’s right. This is a tomb. And the first kings and queens are already settling in.

I need to get out of here. I’m here against my free will. But if I’ll get out, where will I go?