Trapped in life like her green-yellow parrot in cathedral-shaped coop, she flew.
I imagine a pale, porcelain body and black hair with the reflections of the seamist shining back in hazel eyes.
Bare feet. Tiptoeing out in the hesitant wonder of a child — out, out — into the mushy salt-drenched sand, where seashells sink, swim, and tumble into the deep.
Did she create life or destroy it? This was her world to live, if but for a moment, outside of those wire walls.
When the desires leapt to her throat with a gulp, she walked without ceasing. Out, out into the cool arms of sleep. With bare feet — out, out — wandering and slow, letting currents break at her knees.
Deeper still, the bottom, shelly and rough. Wandering steps and slow.
Sonorous act of beauty and light and out of her garments comes lust and the tide. Sunlight on skin as the new fallen snow shatters down to the depths of the limitless cold. Out, out, allez vous-en.
A breath and the end.