Mel E. Furnish

Under the blissful blue sky,

He closes his eyes,

Thousands of voices banged against the walls, and roared a deafening rumble into the ears of a small girl. People of all kinds clambered about, their feet shuffling and scuffing against the bare, cold stone beneath. They all passed by her, almost as if she was invisible. Her broken and battered wings hung low, the tattered feathers brushing against the ground stirring up trash and debris. Her clothes had been ripped up from a fight that had lasted a lifetime, leaving her ravaged like a meek lamb among ruthless wolves. Her eyes were red and dull. Her painted face was no longer flawless. Mascara streamed down her cheeks, and seemed to mark her as a piece of failed art.

Eyes open,

Clomp, clomp,

Spin your webs.