Cracked trailer paneling, carpet tattered and ruined by cigarrette burn. Rain drops pitter pattering, on this tin metal urn. The cell phone rings, this haunting modern technology, who is this calling, who would ever call me?
My old life's finest has found reason to remind me of why I left behind, my highness, and why I quit trying. My queen speaks in screeches, incessant punishment to the wonders my ears have built to block such listening. I do not need these reminders, I end the call.
The rain has stopped falling, the urn is a vase with new life growing high above the brim, so high it cannot be contained. I realize the hole in carpet is beneath me, and it too can be replaced. So I step outside and to my eyes surprise, there she is waiting. "My sunshine", the one who saved me.