Who Breaks a Butterfly on a Wheel?

In light of last week’s column where I announced, “Sometimes freedom is a good way to protect my girls,” today’s subject matter is remarkably fitting, albeit in a warped karmic sense of the word. I’ve literally, at the time of writing, just got off the phone with a host of shattered females; my eldest daughter in tears, the PRACTICAL SILESIAN WIFE distraught. How did this come to pass?

Well, my oldest daughters, Lilly and Malina asked if they could visit their mother in the country and we decided they would take the 8.34 Saturday train bound for Jelena Gora. It stops at Gliwice and arrives at their destination in Prudnik a little over an hour later. At thirteen and twelve years old respectively they are old enough to travel on their own and we got their tickets last night, bought at a student’s discount. Half an hour after their train departed, their mother received a phone call. A ticket inspector had taken Lilly away from her sister and into a solitary compartment where he threatened the police and a correctional institution on her. Why? Lilly’s documents. Wear and tear has worn away her name and age and some months ago she took it upon herself to insert the correct details. With a biro.

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