Room at the Top

The clouds glide by and wind rushes across my face. The tree tops are below and freedom is above. My soul expands into the blue room and I leave my weight behind.

“Ms. Martinel,” a voice says.

The clouds recede and the trees retreat. The metal window frame limits my world and broken glass crunches underfoot. I stare straight at the gray wall topped with barbed wire that is outside my window.

“Can’t you have anything nice?” the voice says.

I sigh. I breeze slips across my cheek. I think it will be a long time before I feel that again.

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