The walls are closing in. I’m short of breath. This tiny little box is keeping my wings from fluttering. They are so fragile after all. They are made of a delicate silk that is soft to the touch. Yet these damn walls are keeping them tight against me, preventing my escape. I feel the first tear, the harsh stone rips a hole through my wing and I cry out in agony. The next tear is larger, and it rips through my other wing, and I fall to the ground in absolute wrenching pain. I curl into a ball and let the walls do their damage. My wings have been shredded. I can no longer fly. There is no escape from this wretched hole. It has dragged me down, and now has taken my only way of escape. The tears flow freely down my face as I see the delicate silk of my wings lying tattered and ruined on the floor. I retch as I know a part of me has been taken away. I lay on the floor for hours, watching as the sun creeps down the wall as it sets. I cry some more for the lost beauty of the day, for the loss of my freedom. I am trapped in this hole. I stand up and try to climb out, but the walls are slick, and there are no handholds. My nails scrape off in my attempts to climb, and blood stains my shirt. I cry out to the black, to the abyss that is above me. Everything has left me. Everyone is gone. I am alone.
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