Locked in

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The winds sway against his will, storming through the four walls as he climbs, persistently. His tender wings flutter behind him in harmony as his ivory bode knocks against the glass, his effort reduced to naught but silenced whispers , he sees not the thickened 15 cm glass or futility of his actions, he sees only the freedom that awaits him ,shying away at every flutter ,every sound ,each second it strays away from his vision. His wings tire , each flutter few and far in between , he falls ,the dream he saw , the freedom beyond those windows, lost , forever …
The hinges crackle with effort as the windows open to the sweet summer breeze ,the fading sunlight beckoning him to her arms , like a motorbike with a key he rises ,to fly, to journey to the unknown, into the arms of light , to another’s house , perhaps to another’s country where the world hasn’t fallen silent, where the chortles and cackles of companionship are not forgotten , where nature and humanity are one , where all have forgotten their woes , a place where the future is brighter than the glistening blue rays of a cracked screen of a long forgotten smartphone.
Peering outside , reaching out she wonders , what is it that lies outside, what are the wonders enclosed in this fragile world , what is it that beckons me into its arms like eve to her forbidden apple?
In a last but dainty flutter , he is swept , by the looming hands of death , in the form of a tawny beak of a an awaiting predator, as silently, he crumbles, succumbs to the shackles of destiny, that he has avoided for too long.
She stares, longingly at the sight outside , as she lies estranged on the plush duvet , her hands clenched by her side. Amidst the pregnant clouds , heavy with rain ,the neatly tiled houses in a row ,soundless and silent she stands , watching from a tower of her own. Her velvet robe contrasting sharply with the black and white film and she stares. She feels not the cold wind threading through her hair ,not the dust that whispers in her nostrils, she sees not the dead bodies that pile around the pavement ,she hears not the cries of the mournful, but she imagines , cut off from this world of tyrannical jeopardy ,a land where music hasn’t been forgotten, where every evening under the shadow of the canopy , in respect to bygone childhood memories , they drink and they talk. She sees her companions ,their laughs in complete harmony as she arrives , a steaming cup of mocha coffee in hand , the one she promised her friends she would try as she feels the taste of the long dissolved beans, bitter yet heavy upon her tongue , as it gurgles down her throat.
She imagines the laughter of that one friend that she has lost , as he looks at her in astonishment and silent amusement , she reaches out for his hand , yet he fades, rapidly , like the steam from a boiling kettle ,as his gentle smile as it bubbles away until he is not one, not two , not ten but a thousand.
A thousand faceless men, marching away in gloves and masks , the plastic melting away in the heat , along with their skin , like torches they burn bright , burning through their paths , then with the mighty gust of the wind ,ashes , they blow away in ashes until she is the only one that is left , among the ashes and the path that a million men once treaded upon.
In the reflection of her tears she sees a girl , double lidded eyes , a small nose smiling back at her.Her face frowns at the recognition. She tears away at her face , hatred concealed in her every move , until she is scarred and bloody , the small nose long gone , the double lidded eyes melting away like ice- cream. Her heart sobs , her heart screams in anger , she wishes to end those people that took away her loved yet her mind whispers in her hate riddled heart , tales of kindness and tales of justice , to judge one by their mind and heart , not by their race , not by their face and not by where they came from. The inferno in her dulls away to…
She awakes from her world , she stares at the empty ceiling of white wall , as she blinks away the tears that burn her eyes , wiping them away ,sweeping off her heart and her sorrows . She puts on her brightest smile , smiling away her pain and she marches away to those that mourn , to be the beacon of light in this time of darkness , to be strong , to lend a shoulder to those that need it most and pray that her smile and her sacrifice will be enough.
Her price , her choice to be caged among whitewashed walls , to stop the unseen enemy that infiltrates our forces , to not be the reaper for ones life , to stay and shackle herself to meaningless meetings and sombre emails would it be enough?
She looks again into the mirror in her room and looking back at her is me. I am her and she is me. I am among those thousand people that wipe away their tears , that shackle themselves to their rooms , living quietly , lending their shoulders to those that need it the most , through the only we can now , through our words , through the language known as the dialect of the heart . We stay locked away for those thousand others battling our unseen enemies , with no heavy armour , with little less than a thousand masks , with experiments and vaccines , to fight them the enemy on all of our borders , so shall we stay at home , in the comfort of our home , as ammunition for those on our frontlines against this ailment or shall we leave only to be never seen again?

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