WARNING: themes and relations to suicide.

She has forgotten her name, her parents, her birthday.

She has waited for 30 years. But she could not feel the time, she did not age.

She is still 19. Young, beautiful.

And yet her past has slipped through her fingers, flying away like a dead leaf as it soars into oblivion.

She grabs a long knife, and chops off her hair. Thick golden locks fall to the cement ground.

She braids the hair, makes it a thick rope. Pieces waving and twisting till it is strong.

Then she stares out the window. She could use the rope to climb out. She can escape. Freedom is within her grasp. One jump. One jump.

And yet she stares back and stares at her ceiling. She could easily use the rope for something else too…

No. She can’t. She wouldn’t.

But, what is there even to live for in the outside world?