The bird with the human tongue
To be read (not necessarily preformed)
She could not remember when or how she arrived here. Now, at this point, it seemed unimportant. It was a simple place, no grandeur or pretensions, nor was it stark. It was comfortable and uncluttered with a peacefulness both in aesthetics and atmosphere. The contents of the apartment were not new but of good quality, purchased a long time ago and wearing away extremely well. She wasn't assigned any seating place but could roam about the apartment at her own free will. There wasn't a cage and the windows had been left open, it had never come into question that she would intentionally leave. She was content in their arrangement and anyway her host was hardly there at all. She had the place mostly to herself, with ample water and food to leave her not worrying that it wasn't going to be replaced. Mostly during the day, whilst the sun was hitting the back of the building she chose to sit by the window which over looked the scrub lands. It was comforting for her to be able to see the tall olive trees, left to bear fruit without any attention from the locals. Foraging was connected with peasantry and these days habits had switched to shopping in big stores where it was possible to get everything at convenience. A light breeze would appear most days, towards the evening when the sun would shift to golden serenity, carrying with it the sounds of spoken language from those who past in neighbouring streets. To her, she wasn't inside the understanding of what was being said, but she felt full on its melody. Looking out to the distant mountains she yearned for nothing and was content with the vastness of time and space she was accumulating. She was unclear about how life differed before she arrived here, but one thing she was sure of, was that this circumstance made her feel at ease.
Each day blended blissfully into the next, time was irrelevant, marked only by the trajectory of the sun. This freedom from time, made her revel in thought and reverie. She sometimes wondered between the reality of her thoughts and materiality of the physical world, so in order to reassure herself that she still existed, she would occasionally and repetitiously move her feet, till she felt present.
Then comes a puncture....