A Bird in A Cage - A Freewrite

The room is pitch-black and silent. 

I reach over and flip the light switch, flooding the classroom with fluorescent light. 

It looks like any old classroom. Desks in rows, a green chalk board, tile floor. 

I walk through the desks, weaving my way to the chalkboard. It’s blank, with nothing but chalk dust on it. I dip my fingers into my pocket, pulling out a slim piece of white chalk. 

And I draw. I draw lots of things, that won’t make sense to anyone but me.

A bird in a cage. The bird breaking free. The bird getting caught, captured. Her wings broken, she is thrust into another cage. This time it is lovely, large, detailed, beautiful. But it is still a cage. The bird beats her broken wings against the bars, trying to free herself. 

I realize I am crying as I draw. 

I stop drawing, the bird’s head only partially done. I rest my head against the chalkboard and breathe deep, calming myself. 

Then I lift my head and my hand and start drawing again.

Two little girls with daisies in their hair, playing below a white-hot sun. Then two older girls, at a wedding, with daisy bouquets in their hands. One a bride, the other her maid of honor. Then the girls wearing daisy-patterned aprons, each with a babe in their arms. Then at a grave, with wilted daisies lying at the headstone, clinging to each other through the tears.

I stare at the chalkboard silently, looking at my work. I reach up and wipe it away in three smooth strokes. Against the vaguely visible drawings I write.

They are coming. You must go. 

I sign my name--Alana--and sketch a daisy, and I turn to go.

I weave through the desks, brushing my hands against the scratched, battered wood. I turn the lights off, hiding my message from view. Then I close the door behind me and vanish once again.