Don’t look upstairs, mom. The young girl in her dark tattered dress scattered up the wooden steps. Each wooden board screamed under her tiptoed feet, her dress spun and swayed with delicate threads pulling away from its form. She fluttered into her room, threads following behind with the curly hairs on her head slowly raising towards her bedroom ceiling. She quickly, but quietly, shut the cracked and chipped wooden door before her wonderland erupted.
She turned around in her room like a fairy in the forest. She danced and squirmed, her hair raising higher and higher with the loose threads of her dress while stars glide from wall to wall. Water trickled down from the sky above her. Her toes burry themselves into the sand below her tender feet just before a gust of wind blows her dress as the stars rain down like the water and find the threads of her dress. She giggles when she begins to fly. Her dress a bubble filled with air, the stars directing her up and towards the open sky. The rain washed her face and dirty dress clean and the cries and yelling downstairs slowly become silent.