The secrets stung behind pursed lips as she finally, slowly, let them flow out, not realizing it was her own soul that fell upon the damp sidewalk. Her eyes shone with rebellion as she told her story.

Her audience sat absorbed, believeing all of it and none of it. Their eyes too glowed but with something more, a sort of need or want. Pictures danced before their faces in unimagineable colors and unexplainable designs. It was quiet, perhaps like a snowfall, as the images spoke and acted for themselves.

Those walking by were deaf to the pureness of her words. They could not understand the beauty of a land once known and lost, the idealism of a woman finally coming to peace with who she is, or the education people no longer lust after.

One could not remember a day ever so gloomy, the clouds a gentlest of dark grey and a mist slowly rolling in and out. This, however, did not affect her tale or who stayed around long enough to hear it. Once there, you were trapped and you would do nothing to try to leave. It kept you there, with no real reason to.

The tale continued on, like the low growling of thunder that was becoming more frequent. But suddenly the story ended, the figures slid to a stop, and the rain poured down. The people hurrying by began to run with newspapers and briefcases over their heads and those around the woman stiffly got up, finally able to hear the noise of the city.

Through all this, she continued to sit, stuck in the life she’d once loved where she eventually learned her lesson and, in the bitter end, lost it all.