A torrent of wind tears through the city as a small woman steps out onto a balcony above the bustling city. She was blind to the cold she was supposed to feel, lied to it. She gazes at the small bird lifting its wings and circling in the sky on currents that take it far away to places like Paris. Places where she wished she could go. Her name is Clarise and she turns her palm around to stare at skin plastered in glass, glass that covered her whole being. There used to be words singing like a lark from her mouth but they are all trapped inside of her in a box emblazoned by a career that forced her to lock it up under key. Ink pools under the surface of the glass, streaming out from her eyes as her tears turn black. Her bones have turned to ash, beaten down under the relentless pace of a city that does not want her here, trapping her like a canary in a cage.
She pulled away from the rail and entered the apartment, a place now empty of the many books and faces that used to crowd it. Now there is nothing but dingy walls and an empty home. Clarise steps out from the door and turns, a key trembling in her hands as she locks one more piece of her away. She walks through the lobby, head down as she steps out into the street, Her head turns to the sky, searching the gloomy clouds above. It has not rained in months and she thinks she used to miss it, rejoicing in the pureness of it all. Now she turns away and hides from it like the lone bird in the sky. Her vibrant mind has now turned dull, washed away into the endless stream of routine. She opens her glass mouth to explain how she feels but words do not come pouring out, only ink that runs from a tongue turned leaden gold with greed.
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Her fragile skin cracks just a little like glass does as she tries to hold herself together. Clarise moved fast, as fast as the glass creeping down her body will let her. She raises a hand, and hailing a cab she lunged into it. The door closed, clicking close like an airlock locking her into a new world. Silence.
The ink swims in her glass chest, weighing her down as she struggles to make small talk , her beating heart taking its last chance for freedom. The man happily obliges in conversation as they talk. Well, they try to talk. All that comes out is words and words and words yet no one is listening. Ink is drowning her lungs, choking them as they scream for her to take a breath and speak
She raises a glass hand to her head, longing to feel human again but all she can do is reflect what other people want to see. Ink runs down her temple, pooling in her torso as her skin begins to crack. She gives a weak smile to the cab driver, as his words get louder and louder, more hostile by each passing vowel. Her ears ring as her hearing crumbles and her eardrums ring with the thunder of his mouth. The noise surrounds her, pressing down on her skin, worming its way under the surface. The burden crushes the clear substance, sending long fissures running down her body. The ink turns into a puddle below her feet, bleeding a path of darkness to crowd out all the light.
She is all used up, her full potential gone, a spark snuffed out. Clarise pulls the phone from her desk, punching in a long-familiar number and hearing only a dial tone. She raises a hand from the darkness running through the glass. ‘’Help me.’’ Clarise weakly calls out, but he can not hear her over his voice and she is alone again. Shackled to perfection. Shattered by it.