I am a servant, I have been one my entire life. I have had many masters, all of them, I think, have shown fairness, possessed kind natures, and were as devoted to me as I endeavoured to be to them.
I sleep under a staircase; it is where I feel most comfortable, where I belong. I have had a bowed spine my whole life, and I much prefer to sit crouched over, my shoulders brought up high around my ears. I never lie down and I never stand up to my full height. The enclosing slope of the staircase is a comfort and allows for a clearly defined sense of space. I know exactly how much of the world is mine and what is mine is the perfect amount for me. High ceilings are an abomination and they encourage ambition, grandeur, and the desire to lift oneself above one’s station.
Most nights I do not sleep. I work until long after my master – whichever master I am currently serving – has retired, and when my fingers are worn down from scrubbing and wiping and mending and sewing, I sit crouched over the tiny harpsichord that I received from my one and only school teacher, Marm Samuelson, and I play for as long as my fingers and my brain can handle. Sometimes this is all night, and I know I provide a benefit because my master always wakes fresh and ready to eat the enormous breakfasts I insist upon. Eggs, ham, bread, juices, cheese, fruit, sausages, pie. Sometimes I fall asleep playing the harp, and on these occasions my master wakes unhappy and stern, and I punish myself by removing food from my daily routine. It is only fair.
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The above piece of writing comprises part of my fragments project, some of which are available on this website. I intend to add new fragments piecemeal, not in any particular order, and as the occasion take me.