8. Harsh Reality

I felt so positive yesterday. But today I feel trapped and oppressed in equal measure by what lies outside.

Outside the leaves continue to fall and sit, dark and damp, measuring the stillness of the road. Wild life flourishes without the continuous disturbance of human sounds and interference - the birds' song in celebration of our passing, sitting boldly on fence posts. The rabbits seem to double in number at each glance. I should be pleased, rescued by the life they bring to the scene. But they sit in contrast with the horses. They stand in a huddle in one corner of the field, shivering in the mist. In just 5 days they seem to have lost their gloss, their poise and their strength. I can't bear to watch their demise, trapped in a field without the human upon whom they've been bred to depend.

That was the reason that finally made B. agree to closing the curtains. It wasn't my first reason. Last night I lay awake with the room bright with the street lamp that lit the empty road. I heard owls and a helicopter, then as I watched the digital numbers change through the minutes and hours I remembered the church bell and listened for its familiar chime. It never came. Then more owls and another helicopter. The sounds clashed, a sense of isolation contrasted against the feeling of being watched, monitored, scrutinised.

I wanted to shut the curtains there and then. To keep them out and to show I was doing as I was told. My paranoia did not sway B. The horses did.

The election's today. We'll sleep through the queues of Americans sensing the chance for a change. In the morning we'll find out whether they chose to save us.