Dust Bunnies

Swan casts a glance behind her, at the world which is about to be forgotten, and the trees that are beginning to shroud it. She would not miss it. She wonders aloud if she should have left a marking, some sort of signature behind. But she decides that there would be no reason for doing so. She had planned this flight, this escape, for good reason. As she looked ahead, she smiled. She would survive, and she would survive well.\n\n[img[girlruns.jpeg]]\n

Now, she fancied herself “Swan”. The class had learned of them, once before. When they were shown pictures, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the beautiful beasts. The feathers were grouped in such ways that they appeared to have shone, and the light appeared to have danced in such pleasant ways, that the girl could bear to miss such a [[wonderful thing.|Swan.]]

The dun shadows wrap their arms around her, and she quiets. It is almost comforting, almost peaceful. But there is still a crisp air to the area around her. She shudders, and gasps, and drags herself out from under the furniture.\n\n\n\nShattered glass rocks back and forth as the girl lurks around it. She gazes to the left and sees the table, devoid of anything but fractured bowls, cracked cups, and splintered [[plates.|Plates.]]

She stashes herself among the rabbits constructed from the powdery dust that makes up the beige of her dress. She shivers from the cold—she has not yet adjusted to it. The clock ticks on, and she begins to weep. The room is a dark indigo, and she cannot see further than the tears in her eyes. The portrait of her mother casts a worried glance throughout the room, as if she is looking for her daughter. But the girl hides, and laments softly, as if she is trying to refrain from waking a [[sleeping beast.|Beast.]]

She glaces at her mother, and at the fireplace, and she misses the warmth of their embraces. She looks to the clock, but its language is unbeknownst to her, and she looks to the room where her father sleeps. His snoring seems to rock the door, and rattle it on its frames. She flinches, and slinks to the door that leads to the [[outside world.|Outside.]]

Mochi

The daughter opens the door, very quietly. The cosmos have muted in anticipation. No birds chirp, no dogs bark, no cars groan as they rush by. She takes a step outside, and clings the measly cardigan closer. She is afraid of the dark; she is afraid of the cold. Taking another step, she closes the door behind her, and leans close to the door to listen for her father’s snorts. Her heart drums in her [[ears.|Ears.]]

It takes years for her to pull away, satisfied. She looks into the distance, tries to make out what is in her future. She glimpses shades made of evil creatures, of horrible sleeping dragons and deathly demons. But she sees shadows of things that are good, if she leers long enough. And she does, and she sees such wonderful hopes, with fantastic creatures—those of kind lions and soft deer. \n\nSo she [[runs.|Run.]]

She sprints, and nearly stumbles, in her haste. The pounding of her shoes on the hard gravel matches the rhythm of her pounding heart. She flings her arms open, no longer just a daughter, no longer just a girl. She is the soul, the soul of one who is truly liberated. Her names, in the past, were things like “Cow”, “Cockroach”, and “Earwig”. Her father, her classmates, perhaps even her teachers, they all called her that. But that was not her [[name.|Name.]]