Freedom Of Expression

Their art combined gibberish with colour. Exterior walls and street recycling receptacles became graphic spectacles.

“Let’s see you join us,” they demanded.

“It’s wrong to deface public property,” I replied.

When a recycling truck rolled in, frustration of the driver as to not being able to do his pickup job landed them at the school office. The self-appointed artists got suspended from class and were ordered to remove their creations.

“Did you take part in that graffiti?” Dad asked.

“No, I only watched,” I answered, careful to not disclose that they asked me for my artistic advice and I obliged.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. Sheresides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals andmany friends.

A Greener And More Reasonable World

She was at Processing, adding the monthly recycling to the family account, when the officer grasped Rayn’s shoulder.

“Come with me son.”

“What? No, there’s some mistake.  We’re under our credit limit!  We grow our own food, we hardly use the transit system- wait!”  But, even as she protested, she saw the look in her son’s eyes, and understood.  Suddenly the last months – the mysterious class absences, the inexplicable weight gain – made sense.

Possibly – depending on how much meat he’d eaten and how hard he labored at the government farms – Rayn might see his mother again.  The Republic wasn’t unreasonable.