The room was dark and her hair was dark

 She had always guessed that maybe there was one chance left for a breath of sanity. Her room was dark and her hair was dark. Her skin was pale and she hadn't been outside for months and months. When the morning of the sixth of May came she decided that today was the day and she opened her windows. The trees were finally green, the grass finally green, the flowers finally in bloom. She had missed them, she thought. More than the people she had missed the grass and flowers. Sometimes she missed the large white owl that sat on her window ledge in December, but mostly she missed the grass and the flowers. Because she had not been outside for months and months her skin was bare and her hair was greasy. The water had been shut off when she made the executive decision to stop paying her bills and she had run out of shampoo in November. A mountain of soda bottles lived in the living room. High and mighty, they were the only thing that had sustained her in her self-imposed solitary confinement. She spoke words to the trees and flinched. Her voice was strange, alien. She had not spoken in months and months and her voice had scared her.

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