Wolves and horses

I work in a school. I hate my job and I hate the children. After a bad day trying to deliver a lesson on the inevitable demise of the Cinque Ports in the 15th Century, I went home, put something awful in the oven, and turned on the television. I watched a documentary about a nomadic herder in Kyrgyzstan or somewhere like it. His entire life revolved around keeping the wolves away from his horses. All day, every day. Even as he talked to the camera, his eyes flicked beyond, scanning for dark dots on the horizon. I laughed out loud in my empty flat, trying to imagine what it would be like, living in such a ridiculous way, your entire existence reduced to a balance of wolves and horses.

Later that night, as my ceiling crawled with insomnia, I realised that I didn’t have to imagine. My life was exactly the same.

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