The fleeting thought of eternal freedom never failed to disrupt the crooked women, trapped in a cage built by herself. Restrained by the laws of marriage and societal norms with her 60 year old husband, she lays paralysed on her own bed, only watching the hours tick by before her husband comes home. Slowly following orders she only moves limitedly and with no freedom to act. Mrs Mallard’s heart condition was to not be taken lightly. She wonders of the many beautiful adventures that could await her. Freedom? What was it? Her heart hammers at the thought of such an idyllic word.
Listening to her husband tell stories of such great inventions and ideas she can only watch in envy at the glimmering lights shone within his eyes. Everyone tells of the same story experiencing an exhilarating life outside the wars, her sister often came over to repeat the same glint in her eyes. The broken woman could only fantasise of another world from her awkward chair facing the screen like window, limited to only the same scenes of sparrows in the same peddler.
Again the cycle of life for the woman continues, although she is falling deeper, a bitter taste leaves her. She feels as if the walls have become more restricting, suffocating. Feeding her with many hopes and dreams proved to be rather negative. A blank translucent translucent wave of sadness slid through her, she already accepted her reality, but anticipation and excitement courses through her veins every so often. Was there more to her life then what’s written?