I've always been here with you. The little wildflower is a sort of weed now, brown and dry. (What was that sound?) My nails are all cracked. What are you now? A little girl. Yes, but what are you really? A little girl. I've been writing down lists recently: things to do tomorrow. I still forget, but I'll never forget to talk to you.
But you didn't talk to me yesterday.
I didn't? I must have been tending to the stones, have I told you? They are perfectly round so they can never hurt you, no sharp edges that poke into your skin. I found a beautiful white bracelet a few weeks ago. I would give it to you but I can't throw that high.
Why are the doors locked?
But they're not even closed...
I can't get out.
I wonder why, you asked what was between us then, but I can't remember. You asked me if it was always this way. I don't know. I wasn't there. We used to hold hands when we were asleep. We held hands and were so beautiful. What happened after that? The next day, the next day-- a baby came here three days ago, there were maggots crawling out of her eyes. (Oh, that sound again! Where is it from?) I've walked around this place so many times by now I would have circled the world.
With me?
With you. Speak louder. I want to hear how similar and different our voices are. You are a girl. Put your hands through the bars so I can see you. You are tiny and graceful, your hands so perfectly shaped. (That sound again, can you hear it?)
Are they like corpses' hands? Did you eat it?
Yes.
Or are they like skeletons, did you live in them?
No, I am too big. I made altars from them. I prayed everyday. But what did we pray for? We prayed to be saved. We prayed for long and happy lives for the people. And always we prayed to see the sun again. Were we saved? I don't know. Even now I don't know.
What did you say? I didn't catch that.
In this cage of ribs lived a small sparrow whose wing was broken. I nursed him to health but he died after a few days, homesick for the sky. I've been taking things one day at a time, just as they come, but there are too many days. Too many.
And then?
I feel sick. I always feel sick. We used to sit on this couch, reading stories. Let me read to her, I thought, let me tell her stories. But in my throat my voice died.
So I was loved?
Yes. But how could you know? How could you know?
What's that in your hands?
That picture of a beautiful palace. We lived in a beautiful palace once. We were beautiful. We sat by the fireplace, the coals were glowing so brightly. There was music and dancing. Again and again we twirled round the room, and again and again we were beautiful. I understand that. I understand some things. I cried. I can't understand some things. What illness made those maggots crawl out of her eyes? Look. You were white and round like the stone. I was soft-edged and solid. We wore blue, you and I, and at night we shone brighter than the moon.
Father and mother?
They weren't there yet, mother and father. I could hear their soft whispers and loving caress but they weren't there yet. They were beautiful, but not the way we were. Sometimes I hear them calling. There, I heard that. (What? What sound?) What was my name-- I mean the name my father gave me-- where did I come from? My fingers are bleeding. Pity. But I made a list, I will not forget. I will talk to you again tomorrow.
But what of the sound?
Banished away.