FICTION: The poets were the first to be killed. If you kill the brain, the body dies too. The Party was after the brains, anyway, like zombies, but it was neither the first nor would it be the last time people had stood in their way and paid the price with their lives. Eva and her compatriots in the resistance buckled down over breakfast to draw up a plan. Flour, butter, milk, and sugar and soon what could be called a 'care package' was put together. Baking poetry into bread. Sunlight splashed across the linoleum and the bread on the sill. Haikus in eclairs, couplets in the cupcakes, and rhyme in the pie. Eva is fully aware of the consequences of her action -- designation as a political prisoner just like the people they were feeding. That in mind, she took extra care with the ceramic blade, an inconspicuous circle, concealed neatly beneath the angel's food cake. She can't write 'Happy Birthday, Ian' on it because of the ban, but the birthday would happen through perseverance and the happiness would come with patience. This consumption is good for the mind and the heart.
