Three syllables that divide.

Us. Them.

First. Second.

Human. Less so.


Faceless, hooded demons crossing invisible lines at the mid of night.

One day we’re just us. The next: Us. Them.

Ancient myth worshippers, lusting for pure blood. Ours. Angry. Angry. Greedy. Swooping down like an army of crows.

One minute we’re just us. The next: Us. Them.

Seeping like ink, silent, unseen, leeching, thieving. Starving rats in our sewage system.

One night we’re just us. Morning: Us. Them.



They are not a child. Beaten. Raped. Running for her life.

They are not a mother. Maths teacher. PhD.

They are not a lover. Full of music. Colours. Plans.

They are not a person. A house in the country. Full of books. Smells of spiced beauties. Terrible singer. Part-time astronomer. Full-time heart broken.

They aren’t.

They can’t be.

How else can we say:



One day we’re us. Them.

The next:

We’re just us.


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