nine: optimistic

Back, but not really back. No warm embraces here.

We stalk down corridors. Skulk in corners. Mutter. Paranoid. Watching, waiting, speculating. We hide behind closed doors. We sniff out the wounded, sympathise, and then cross ourselves with relief because it isn't us.

Yes, we are serious. We couldn't be more serious. This is a matter of a life we once had, and a thousand little deaths. You wouldn't know, because you haven't asked.

The advent calender makes little difference. There may be tinsel on the tree but the fairy has failed to wave her wand. We are stuck here for the duration. It will not be over by Christmas. There are bad days just around the corner.

I don't know what the final sentence is.