The Meatball

…they shouldn’t be in here.

“Hurry up,” Chiroko complained, her scrawny butt slinking ahead through the vent’s din light. Hiroshi was tired of her scrawny, bossy butt and all her what-ifs and her plans. All they needed to do was wait it out in their cell and try to be entertaining. Yet here he was, following her. 

Or maybe this was part of the show? Perhaps the months and months of meagreness and monotony had been meant to drive them from their misery, up into the vents towards some sort of thrilling conclusion or escalation or clash!

Hiroshi steeled himself for such an outcome.

But if that was the case, where were all the cameras?

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