My Cardboard Balcony

Miss Guide by Belinda Roddie At the entrance to the restless trail, you'll find a small middle-aged woman beckoning to you, dressed in brown so that the dirt drapes around her like the hem of a skirt dusting her ankles dry. "If you come with me," she says, "you will find solace in a hammock and a cold iced tea. You'll have chocolates handed to you on glass with confidence sprinkled on top, sweet and forgiving." Then, once you're in the ditch with seventeen hundred other people, scratching their crispy scalps in bewilderment, you'll wonder if that little woman has skipped back off to the entrance, eager to explain the great way again.

"You are the newest prisoner. Your name will be nothing but a single syllable, to identify you. We don't give you a number because we aren't barbarians. You will be expected to follow the rules, and if you do, you will be treated with respect. Not cruelty." Donna blinked. She stood motionless in front of the incarceration council. "So what's my prison name, then?" The head councilwoman smiled. "Your name, m'dear, will be Dash."