It is the last day of our week-long time-off, as it were, after having finished our previous—er—engagement. I have since feared that we may have to pay a price for our little vacation, because I suspect no one really wants to see the new guys happy, and I was right. It was just recently announced, by a representative of those above us, that we were to take all our belongings with us to le Chateau d'If—for we will not be expecting to be home again anytime soon. One cannot be certain if it was just a cruel ruse on their part, I certainly hope it was, but I have packed my things all the same. It is with a bit of shame though that I must admit that I am a little apprehensive, of what I cannot tell, about my imminent departure to that damnable fortress, and be imprisoned therein for an untold time, doing the devil knows what. It has been bothering me for the past few days, giving me nightmares, and disturbing my peaceful repose. Uncertainty, perhaps, is likely the culprit. No one knows what we will have to go through inside, how we will be treated, what will they feed us, or where upon this earth they will decide to throw me next!

And most importantly, I want to know, when can I come home?

I have just returned from months of absence and it is utterly depressing (not to mention infuriating) to find that I have not returned for good, that I cannot go home everyday, or every weekend at least, to enjoy the warm company of my family whom I have missed very much. As the last hours of my freedom tick by, I grow more and more anxious, disquieted, almost alarmed—so much so that I desperately claw onto anything, like a drowning cat struggling for air, that would alleviate this most unpleasant feeling. I converse with my parents (about anything even the most nonsense things), annoy my sister endlessly (our own strange way of showing affection),  play with the puppies (they have grown so big now), listen to music, watch movies, and play games on my computer as if there is no tomorrow. Perhaps... there will no longer be any tomorrows. No more days of freedom, of easy mornings and lazy afternoons, of silly hobbies and juvenile gaming, of simply having horrible amounts of free time in your hands. No, no more of that. The situation that I am in requires that I must leave it all behind—a high price to pay for someone who value these things dearly—and for what?

Adieu la liberté!