It wasn't so bad. I liked it. Besides, I'd gotten a tip from a guy back at the other camp that a bathtub was the safest spot to hide when people were shooting up the place. The soldiers moved us around like markers on a chessboard. I'd slept at too many camps to count on one hand. (I still had both my hands, thankfully.) Call me weird, but I really liked sleeping in a bathtub. I folded the blanket in half, put the pillows at one end, jumped in, and then folded the rest of the blanket over me. The only downside to this was the faucet. It got in the way of my feet sometimes. But most of the time I slept like a fetus. The sides of the bathtub hugged me like a womb. I promised that if I ever found myself alive out of this war and got myself a house, or at least a cheap little apartment, I didn’t think I’d bother with getting a bed. I’d take the tub. The toilet, as well as the lock, worked.
