I.

            If I was a Bohemian, I’d count every second of my life.

            Bohemians always had people who cared for them, fed them feasts of turkey and ham, lobsters and escargot, caviar and cigars. Bohemians had maids following around, who had to carry giant umbrellas to keep the Bohemian’s delicate skins from touching the rays of the sun, and fed them grapes of green skin and red apples in a bowl, whenever the Bohemian desired it. I’d see them dancing at night sometimes, candlelights covering every corner of the darkness in their gardens, a full orchestra playing music just to pleasure their ears.

            If I was a Bohemian, would I know the pains of life?

            And as I stare at them from behind the wire fences of the camp, I could do nothing but daydream of the day when maybe one of those Bohemians, maybe one of them, will spot me and say “Say, you seem to be quite lonely and sad behind those fences. Would you care to come and join us, in our garden of bright and free?”

            And I would reply, “But I can’t, benevolent Bohemian, for I’m a prisoner in these restraining camps of yours.”

            Maybe they would ask, “But why? Have you done anything wrong?”

            And I could say, “No, yet I’m here because I was born to the tribes that belonged to these lands, before your country invaded and relocated us all to these restricting areas, this camp that is more of a prison than an actual land.”

            And maybe then they would be able to look deep into my eyes, feel that tug in their hearts that would allow them to see the pains that they have caused in these lands, and they would maybe then feel bad and set us all free, and allow us all to ‘mingle’ with them, and we could all live together, trading off each others’ culture, and live like we all did before the great wars.

            It doesn’t hurt anybody to daydream like that right?

            Well, maybe your hope will be hurt, but it’s been gone for awhile now.

            “Rayshin, get off those gates already!” The rough voice of sergeant Vince pounded on my ears.

            “Sorry, sorry,” I smiled apologetically and bowed before running off away from the fences. I don’t see why sergeant Vince got to be pissed every time he catches me staring at the Bohemians across from the camp, it’s not like I’m bothering them or anything.

            The feed time was fast approaching, and my stomach voiced its opinion on what we should do next.