Prompt from yesterday’s group: Escape

She breathes in early dawn. There’s a stillness when two people
share space. No children scamper, no dog pants or sheds. She breathes again.
Books stacked against the wicker basket haven’t moved. The clock measures
seconds until another hour reminds her to rise, move, participate in the day.
But quiet seeps under the door jam. She listens, waiting, lifting her polished toe
against the cool sheet. Voices float through the open window,
eyelids flutter and close. She writes verse, line by line, breathing words
in and out. Orange slits, burned bread, a broken branch in a torn screen.

No, she will not participate in this day.
Rolling to the right, she tucks the pale blue pillow under her cheek.