The Blue ParrotShe was dressed in her sheer camisole and her bedroom slippers. A parrot in ceramic glory hung on the faded pink wall of the bedroom. Simple and replete with the notion of winged freedom, winged in glory and azure tincture, amber eyed thrill.
She stared at the round ceramic dish adorned with the blue parrot,” Polly wanna cracker?” she said out loud. The bars on the window were closely stitched but they would allow for the bird in an easy breath. The windows were open and a warm gust of air blew between the steel bars. A blue parrot, a companion in hell. The locks remained steadfast and heavy on the bedroom door allowing for nothing and in chained, bolted distinctions of prison.
The blue parrot, she saw it clearly, chawing, cawing her name in provident foreshadowing faith, in fortune and wildfire freedom. She took the file she had secreted away from behind the blue parrot and began sawing a tiny groove in the steel bar. She smiled thinking of winged freedoms, open skies and the desires of a sweet deliverance from the confinement of her
Husbands design. She would be free, she would be free.