Stuck

I open my mouth and breathe out, setting my emotions free in one breath. They take the shape of a miniature bird, its body made entirely of flame. This phoenix of emotions flies along the outer edges of the room as it seeks purpose and reason. It is blind, guided  only by feel and instinct. When its wingtip encounters a corner it turns to avoid the wall. A thin line begins to appear where the flames of its wings brush against the wall and a sort of burnt aroma crowds the room.

A forlorn cry breaks loose from its flaming throat and it stops at the closed door. It dances in place with a twirl and a flutter as it burns brighter and hotter in its confused frustration. It can feel the door, knows what it is and what it does, but does not have the slightest idea of how to open it or even if it wants to. The flaming body pushes against it, testing it and finding it firm. With a last pitiful cry it sinks to the floor and stares blindly at the door before it, even more stuck than it was before.

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~ by Rckrgrl on March 31, 2010.

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