The Version Of Her They Invented

The door stayed shut. The clock ticked down her empty hours. The world went on outside without her name. Each "no" was concrete poured over her feet. They shaped her ribs into a narrow cage. "Why can't I just watch this movie?" she asked. "It's not safe," they said, closing the door. She watched the shadows crawl across the floor. "I won't die if I go out with my friends." But her words just bounced off the hallway walls. They did not love her; They loved the idea of her. They tucked her into a bed of obligations. They loved the perfect version that stayed still. Quiet. Safe. Untouched by the wind. The lock clicked final. The lights went out. The version of her that wanted to live was gone.