Z Wang

A 3am thought from 2020.

“There must be some way out of here,” muttered the squirrel to itself. On one side, there were all the bongos with their loud cries and noisy, vibrating grumbling. And also cats. On the other side was the place with no sky. No sky but so many good smells. And the squirrel especially looked at the clear door which menacingly slid closed anytime it tried to approach.

All the squirrel could do is race around the hot, bad-smelling ground which bit into its soft paws like rocks, avoiding all the bongos that went left and right and right again, coming in and out with no end in sight.

“What a farce life can be,” thought the seagull, perched on a dead tree nearby. “That heaven and hell are but a sliding door away from each other.”

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