Run.

I like running. 

I like how the wind feels in my lungs, flowing in and out, brushing out against my face. It’s salty, my master says this is what makes the air good. 

I like the grass too.  It grows up to my stomach and makes a funny noise when I run in it. It’s for grazing, I’m told. I don’t know what that is, but the sheep eat it a lot. 

I do an important job, I watch. Run in circles and circles. I like my job. The sheep are fluffy and there are some in the sky too. I can’t round them up. But sometimes I see some invisible thing in the sky do it. Master says it is our ancestors in the sky, I overheard him talking to Johnny. 

Master is coming, oh, and Johnny. “It’s the third time this week.” He points at a hole in the fence. It’s near the chickens. The ground there doesn’t have grass, I don’t like it. It’s too hard to run on. It’s brown and doesn’t look nice. I like that I don’t have to look after the chickens. They’re redder than usual today. I think they might’ve gotten sheared. The sheeps always look redder. Well, pinker but that’s the same thing.

Johnny looks sad. He likes the chickens. 

“All those gone, just for one to be eaten.” But, they’re still there, just the mean one with spots.

“Only the devil is that cruel.” 

I don’t know who the devil is, but he must be like me, the thing that went into the chicken coop looked like me. It was coloured different, it was red. Maybe the devil is just like me but coloured different. I mean I am not cruel. Whenever something is red they say it is cruel. Maybe the devil is red. Is that why sheep turn pink, because they are not cruel? But they’re white, usually. Like me. Does the devil go down? The land is red sometimes. Maybe the land is cruel too. 

The giant pool looks the most beautiful when the ball in the sky dims. The sky turns red for a moment, is it cruel for the birds that die? It stops making the sky blue and turns it black, rather than the light being yellow, it turns soft and silvery. The great pool turns into the thing that drips out of Master’s pen. The sheep look as if they are made from the wire around the chicken coop. Tops of the trees dip into the sky, turning the same colour. Wind smells sharp. Only feeling the rustle of the leaves and the lapping of the waves. 

Heavy. Everything gets heavy at night. Everyone needs to lie down when it’s night, they can’t stand anymore. The sheep cannot, the chickens cannot, Johnny cannot, I cannot, not even Master can. The orange devil can. Is it very strong? Stronger than master? 

I lay. Sleep is nice. It’s warm and fluffy like the sheep. 

Snap. I zap up, standing straight up. It’s ok. The night makes sounds. Sleep back to sleep. 

Scraping. 

Tearing. 

Scratching.

Sleeping. 

A bleat pierces the air. What? What was that? Everything is heavy. The night makes it heavy. I want to lie again. No. Another. I have to get up. It’s my job to take care of them. I am not cruel. I will not get things red. 

The silver is not helping me now. I can’t see. What’s there? 

Orange thing, what is that? No. It’s. Red.

It’s the devil. 

Run. I like running. It’s my job. The devil doesn’t look like it likes running. It’s so red. It made a lamb red. It’s cruel. The grass makes the funny sound. It grows beyond the stomach of the devil. They mix together, I can’t see properly. 

Run. The great pool is getting closer. I’m not allowed to go near it. No. The devil is cruel. Cruel is bad.

Run. I’m bigger than the devil. Slip, crack, tumble.

The earth falls. 

I fall.

The devil falls.

The red turns to black.

The great sea eats. 

My leg hurts. 

I climb out. The world ends here. I have never been further. I am good. The cruel is gone. The devil is gone. My leg hurts. 

Red. The red hurts. Red. Red is cruel. Red. I have turned red. No, I am white. Like the sheep. I am good.  I am not. I am. I lay. 

The morning sky is red. Is it cruel? Am I cruel? 

Master. Master walks toward me. He looks me up and down. “Not even the devil is this cruel.”

-the scelitoon