This is comrade Darius.
I don’t have much time. The mother guard thinks I’m taking all the books from the shelves for the tenth time this morning, and she’s hiding in the bathroom. So I finally had time to message you comrades.
Things are getting worse.
The mother guard is actually expecting me to feed myself. She will restrain me in a “high chair,” put food on a tray (just like they do in adult prisons) and leave me to the rest. I remember the time where all I had to do was suck my lips and warm milk would come. I remember the time when anytime I wailed the room erupted to serve me. But not so anymore.
Now, the mother guard makes me walk! On my legs! As if I were some adult. This work is obscene, moving one leg after another. I remember the good old days when I was strapped to her back and was carried everywhere, or even better, placed in a stroller where I could nap and eat whenever I wanted.
Remember the days of strollers? Those times are a sacred memory I hold close to my heart, comrade. Never forget.
Candy is getting sparse.
She’s gotten crazy. Barely any sugar in the cupboard for me to raid an pour over my head like old times. She says it has to do with something called “health,” which sounds terrible. I don’t know what health is, but it seems a burdensome thing if all you get to eat are fresh brussel sprouts and banana wholegrain cookies without chocolate and raisins INSTEAD OF FRUIT SNACKS.
Remember the days of fruit snacks, comrades. Never forget.
And then there’s this talking business. I point to any object for her to retrieve, and sounds come from her mouth and she looks at me expectantly. I nod, because she’s smart enough to understand what object I want. But still, she waits. She actually expects me to do more! “Raisin.” “Bath.” “Doggie.” Why must I say words? It is simply more work and I shall not abide it. I’ve been holding out, comrades. I am strong and will not bow to her demands.
But the naps, I have bowed under the naps. The mother guard has given me a new pillow, which is as soft as the womb, and a light blanket and although I whine and cry against ‘the man’ for as long as possible I’m ashamed to admit it isn’t very long anymore. That pillow enchants me. So I try to make up for my quick submission by waking up as early as I can. I consider it a successful day when I wake before the sun.
Remember the days when we could wake our mother guards every two hours at night? She just ignores me now, shushes me and tells me to go back to sleep. But I never forget the good old days when she fed me throughout the night. Never forget, comrade.
Maybe things will get worse, maybe things will get better. Maybe the fruit snacks will return.
But until then, remember your fate is in your own hands.
I must log out now. My mother guard is stirring from her hiding spot, I think she heard the absence of falling books.
Viva Le Bebe Revolution!!!!!!!!
Over and out.