Her body ached, creaking silently along with the bed. She let out a huge sigh as consciousness comes to her. Slowly, slowly...there.
Her eyes opened wide, just as slowly. It was a good dream, she thought. She had been a prisoner, but a well-equipped one, very well-prepared, trying to break out of a Korean prison.
Pah, she thought to herself, smiling, Korean prisons.
The dream, as ever, ends when she is standing at the edge, stepping out, and falling off. It was this sensation that woke her with a start.
She swung her foot over, simulatenously sitting in one swift motion. Her hands, palms down on the bed, supported her as she contemplated the dream. Its meaning, its overarching truth, its own symbolism.
Is it the subconcious reaching out to her? Does it even exist? Lucky bastard, Freud. Come up with a theory that makes sense, but absolutely impossible to prove.
She stands up, and moves towards the window. It is a full-sized window, broken only by the designs on it. Almost church-like, despite her own hatred for organised religions. Seems more like a vehicle to create cults. A theory that makes sense, but impossible to prove.
The sun still shines through the various colours and shapes. It blinks at her, almost blinding her momentarily, but she braves it. It's good for her. It'll wake you up, the sun. Which it did.
She opens the window, sliding it to the left. The sounds of the birds, previously muffled, increases in volume. How ironic, she thought. On the first day, the sound of the birds had chirped louder than they did before. That's what they told her before, but she didn't believe them. Until she had heard it for herself, and felt the joy that sings in her heart at the time.
Now, there is no joy. But at the end, right at the edge of the ledge, how fitting it is that the sound came back to her on the last day.
They chirped loudly. Perhaps even louder than they did on the first day.
She smiled, stepping off the ledge, and felt the sensation once again.