i know why the caged bird sings

the door slammed shut, the noise ringing long after the finality of the action was driven home.

she stood shivering just inches inside the room, her bare feet soaking in the biting cold and carrying it to her arms and legs. barely still, as her emotions spun, chaotic. fear. anger. disbelief. hope. it was this last that made her turn around to look at the door once more. but the door remained in reality, unswayed by the fleeting hopes of the human heart. back was not an option.

so,
forward.
white, white - all around her white. white walls, and floors, white ceiling; pale glass at the windows, frosted from the winter cold. outside - snow, and clouds - frozen white.

the first hours were the hardest. she walked around the edge of the room, pacing at first, then slower and slower, but her mind refused the message, the thoughts racing - her heart beating furiously in her chest. plan after plan - escape, acceptance, revenge - made and inevitably tossed away.

when she sat down, her back against the wall - not in a corner, for no corners of comfort existed in this cold, circular, white room - it was resignation. sinking, cold. when she leapt up again to walk to the window and press her nose against the frosted glass it was - she didn't know what it was. or why she did it, just that she must. when she turned away from that window, it was despair. pure and simple, cutting.

when she wept, it was tears of glass - crystal, clear. fragile they were born, and fragile they fell - shattering silently against the polished floorboards. released, they lay - tiny gleaming, colorless pools reflecting the emptiness of the room.

the days, or perhaps they were hours, she couldn't know - passed. she cursed herself, her thoughts which let her be, deceptively silent in sleep, and tore at her, making up twice over for every second she was awake. she cursed the daylight for an unwelcome companion during the day, forcing her to face herself, and cursed it for abandoning her at night. she slept, she woke, she thought, she felt, she screamed, she slept.

then came an hour, a minute -
perhaps early morning, or afternoon or late evening,
she had lost track - the measurement meaningless.

suddenly, a precise point in time which slowed, and slipped into eternity. she treasured the silence, the stillness of the space in between each heartbeat. freedom, felt in the loss of time. unfettered. everything was of importance, and yet, nothing was. nothing at all.

and so in that moment she stood, in the center of the white room, painting pictures with her mind before the sound of a beat leapt up to wipe them clean. every picture painted in total clarity. again, and again - create, erase, create - listening, painting, feeling, shivering, entranced.

walking forward, she lifted her hands - cautiously, hesitant - to rest them against the walls.

when she breathed in - sharply, shallow - her breath drew comfort from the air, the pain reminding her of existence and realities, of fear and heartbreak, tangible and inescapable. with her fingers she traced designs on the smooth surfaces around her, her eyes closed and her mind free.

picking up a brush, she dipped it in paint and began - blues and greens, cold, cool, and warm. cerulean skies and indigo seas, dancing girls with sea-green hair and bright blue eyes. stars and silver, spun into pictures of hope and dreaming, wistful, ecstatic. gold and cream, buttercup yellows and molten oranges, shimmering, sunlight and sunsets, beautiful melodies and lazy summer days.

slowly, she painted the world onto the walls, her eyes closed, the brush held light in her hands. smiling, swaying to the music of a thousand orchestras, lilting strings and haunting harmonies - browns and golds, sepia, amber-bright, autumn breezes and children's laughter - she painted happiness and love, smiles, bright.

quickly, she painted, and at times the colors faded, lost their life - slipped into sorrow and loss, shadows. and in her mind, the music became louder - a slow crescendo - greys and whites and pale blues became darker, deeper, black, purples and reds; anger, fury, hate, screams, despair - she painted them out furiously onto her canvas, faster and faster. her brush became a blur as it spat out turmoil in a hundred shades red and grey. harder, faster, until she grew tired, until she painted it all out, laid it down on the walls around her - until, inside her, there was nothing but stillness.

acceptance.
slowly she stepped back, and slowly she opened her eyes.

white. emptiness. the walls wiped clean.
her hands, empty. no traces of paint.
her thoughts, empty. no traces of feeling.
finally at one with the surroundings.

in the center of the room, she stood in silence.
the infinite moment passed,
and she lay down on the cold, smooth floor,
closed her eyes,
and slept.