Photo: © Russell Gayer
“We don’t go There,” Mama always warned. “Ever.”
“There” was beyond the fence. Where the embankment locked in perpetual shadows and where the yellow cliffs rose shining in the sun and where the scary things lived and mortal danger was certain to find you.
As a child I never questioned the relative flimsiness of the wire fence and how it possibly prevented such pervasive awfulness from invading the compound.
It wasn’t until much later that it occurred to me to wonder whether both the fence and its electric bite were there to keep us in.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers