Day 107

We had this rhyme we'd do back when I was five.
Every week we'd do this in the auditorium.
Never quite realised how creepy it was until I remembered it today.
It goes like this:

War flowers, war flowers

Growing up so high.

We're all little children,

we're all going to die.

Except for [NAME] and they're the only one

Oh the shame of it, oh the shame of it.

Turn your face to the wall again.

We'd spin in a circle while we sang, all holding hands.

When your name was said you faced outwards, still going round.

It never occurred to any of us that the ones facing inwards were "dead".

I haven't spoken to any of them, you know.

I never kept in touch with any of the others who used to sing that song.

I don't know if I'd ever be able to find them again.

Come to think of it, I was always called last in that song.

Always.