“That is for the poem on Demorcracy Upended you free thinking shithead. That was for the Munich riot were three soldiers were killed…” She screamed at me.
I pushed yet another broken and powdered tooth out of my now almost toothless mouth and mumbled at her..She didn’t hear and grabbed my hair pulling my head back as far as my orbital vertebrae would let me . ” What did you say you scumbag..still thinking for yourself still insisting on being creative…”. Her hand landed a cupped slap on my ear sending a shockwave in to my head that seemed more like a mortar exploding close by me. ” What did you say again…”!
“  Thirty eight protestors died too in that attack on the market place..” I mumbled. Another slap and she threw my head away.
” Do you think we care about people? Do you think we are concered with their welfare , you naive moron. It’s about control and if you think otherwise you won’t see the outside of this place for a long time.  So finally are you going to sign your new poem”?

She held up a piece of paper I could barely discern through my tears and bruising. ” What’s wrong cat got y’tongue..” .
“How long have i been here ” I asked..
” Never mind that just think how quickly you could be out..no problems, no screams, ..” She paused and walked about for a second letting her words soak into my mind like vinegar onto  an open  wound.
” My mind is all i have ..”  I answered feebly ..”I want to keep it mine..”

Then in an extraordinary change of character she transfomd herself . Gone was the vicious screaming harradin and in her place she became a warm , almost loving young girl.
” We will leave you alone if you sign this. A new poem. Something we pennd for you, a gentle escape from reality, a little statement of an absconded mind ,just a little warm immersion in apathy Then you are free to you . In responsibility to your felow man all over the world…”.
She began reading but my head was swimming . I could be out of here. Out of Peacy prison if I signed this piece of what?.. ”
“There not so bad was it eh? Literate, full of lovely fluffy  imagary, warmth, individual humanity: all the ingredients of a passable piece of literature without the free thinking and explosive ingredients of your consistent and outrageous, insulting scribbles..think of it … A warm bed. No pain, no controversy , no FD forces chasing you from one internet site to another, no fly posting or vanity publishing, no leafleting in trendy venues persued by the army of right and proper personal responsibility. No more Peacy prison…”. Her voice was warm and as inviting as a microfibre duvet ( duck down had long since been banned by the vegan lobby) . Her hand lifted the piece of paper and I focussed on the title.  ” Night Swim “  by C.H Icken .