What price freedom?
I ask myself that every day. Every day I awake, expecting a
boot to the throat, or maybe just a bullet to the head. Every day I get up,
gather my things and start moving.
You always have to keep moving, no matter what, you can’t
let them catch up to you. The day you think that they’re not behind you, that
they must move too slow to be there, that’s the day they find you.
Every day could be my last one free of subjugation from the ‘protectors’.
What price freedom?
Everything. No more, no less.
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