He had to get away and take his family with him. He had satirized The Leader, mocked his tweets, doubted his ability to rebuild the country.
Only last night he had had a visit – men in sharp suits knocking at his door, asking him where he was born, reminding him they knew where his children went to school, pointing out the building where his wife worked, advising him to conform.
In the early hours they packed a pushcart, walked to the railway.
“Which way?” he asked.
“North,” said the doctor.
“We all go north,” said the teacher.
And they did.
Written in response to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ weekly writing prompt posted from a secure cave in the side of some remote and unnamed mountains. You can participate by clicking here.