I recycled, went dairy-free, meat-free and ignored the news: strikes, power cuts, hate crimes, homelessness, elections, re-elections.
Now I live in a tent hidden by a circle of ancient trees on a hill near a stream. The battle rages on in our cities, which are blasted, skeletal.
The last voice I heard was the war correspondent on the radio. The station was surrounded by a mob; they wanted the generator. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
I’ve thought a lot about her apology. About what we had, what we shared, who decided. Whether it’s too late to begin again.
Alison Woodhouse writes mainly short stories and flash fiction. She has won and been placed in many competitions and is widely anthologised, both in print and online. In February 2020 she graduated with distinction from Bath Spa MA in Creative Writing and is now working to complete her novel.