Rebellion

It always happens in stories and movies; the rebellious child with her heart submerged in a lavabed of rage decides to flee. To run away, to melt the bars of that iron birdcage with the heat of her hatred, to taste the freedom in the particles of cloud and dust and sun brought about by her own inner storm. Sometimes years, sometimes days, maybe mere hours after, that bird with the newfound diamond feathers is splintered from the sky with a flash of lightning and shattering glass. That naive, headstrong child who yearned for independence has fallen into a snake nest; she was not ready to embrace this freedom, for with freedom comes an inexplainable danger. After getting that first jolt of reality, that pitiful creature crawls back into her metal mental haven. Yes, the wings may be clipped, her arms and legs may be scalded by the flames erupting from her veins, but at least she is her own downfall. Why would such a thing happen? Why would fear, power hungry and thirsting for blood, chase that child back to the black hole she escaped from? Why did that beautiful raven, bright in her darkness, after peace whitened her bloody feathers into those of a dove, extinguish her own light?