Twelve and a mercy

The swelling held. By five I could close my fist around the sjambok. That was the only thought I let myself have about my hand.

Yesterday I sat with cold tea and a cat and a torch going nowhere. Today I was at a gate I have never opened before. The farmer put out his hand and I took it. I do not know what to do with people who trust me on a handshake. I want to deserve it. I also want to run before I find out I do not.

There was a gravid female under a flat stone. I looked at her under the torch and I put her back. Twelve in the box is twelve in the box and I gave one away on purpose. I cannot tell you why. Maybe I needed to prove I still could. I will log it as a release.

Karel waved me through the yard without papers. He knows the truck. He knows me. Being known is a strange drug. Half of me wants to disappear so no one ever recognizes me again. The other half feels something when his hand lifts.

I logged every hour as Neutral on the grid. That is a lie I am telling the system and myself. The truth is I do not know what I am. The dark does not care. The vials do not care.

The interim check is in two days. I have not sat down with the numbers. I am afraid of what they look like when I stop moving. On the road the math is a highway. At home it is a calendar with teeth.

I did not think about the person I left in Cape Town once tonight. I am lying. I thought about them at the gate when the farmer held out his hand. I wondered if anyone has held one out to them in a way they trusted.

The cat is on my bed. She has been alone since morning. She will be fine. She is always fine.

Twelve in the box. Pure field-joy, I wrote on the feed. The dark is still asking. I am still answering with vials. I do not know what question I am answering. I just know I cannot stop yet.