Tethered. Vibrant. Her eyes locked on the shackled kite. The painted green tree spurting towards the edges of its fragile jail, hemmed in by the patchwork cloth of the border line. She turned back on herself, neck craned, eyes strained. A soft wind, luxurious in the spooling afternoon heat cupped its back, kneading out the knots, elongating the spine, stretching out the branches from below the patented sign of familial wealth. She tugged at the grip. The flag pulled against the rope. It could have been a kite flying high, but she was still trapped within her own questioning mind.
Copyright: Victoria O