November 10 — Duality
The woman sat, strung out on the steps of a dilapidated bar. Her sleeping bag was torn and dirty, and yet she was nestled into it. It was her one protection against the cold.
People passed her by, not looking, their eyes glazed over her as if she were a fixture of the steps. A statue of stone instead of a person. A daughter, a painter, a partner, a friend.
She let her eyes drift nine-tenths of the way closed, only letting in a sliver of the watery morning light. As the morning crested above the city, and people started their commutes, she entered the realm of dreams.
In this world, she replaced her freezing limbs for wings, her matted cap for a crown, and her pain for power.
The only thing she kept the same from her previous life was the ability to be invisible, for she believed, that if death couldn’t see her, she could live on in her dreams, flying above the city that had been cruel to her.