• Slowly, they opened the door, these tiny children waiting for certain doom, for a crime committed against Margot, true prophet of sunshine. The children looked with faces speaking not sorrow for Margot, but sorrow for their skins, how they may be punished thoroughly when the pale one speaks to their superiors. Their parents, the teachers, and those who knew them. Some thought this, others thought that, but the instinctive thought remained the same etched in the wrinkles of their brain. That they were all guilty and that despicable bird hanging away from the flock, will sing against them. Finally the door opened and the abyss flew into full bloom. They saw what hung up by the coat hanger. They saw a red belt strapped around her tied around the hanger.

    And instinctively, all her witnesses became stunned on the very ground they stood, like the clockwork stopped on these tiny hilltops hanging their heads. "No!," one spoke. "Margot, MARGOT, don't play with us, wake up, " another yelled. No response, only a statue judging them in silence. Soon the silence became whispers, the whispers became voices, the voices became desperate wails as if a sea of sound and cries filled this catacomb, this coffin chamber. How cruel of a irony was bestowed into these children by a flaming sword upon their kneeling guilt. Irony for both parties, ones who breathed in her perfume and exhaled fear through mouths gaped open, another which did not breathe at all. Her blood shot eyes rolled behind the lids like curtains coming down on a stage. The photo of this doll, with her soul flown away, spread like an eagle, rising beyond clouds, and faded into the light. And still the circling of her body, taunting this grievous funeral room with all its guests dressed in uniform, seemed like it was endless. Spinning and frittering away the time that lasted like decades.

    The masses surrounded around her, all at once lifting her body after long whimpers of fear. Instincts took over yet again. Carrying her among them, no command to be spoken, no objective written on the chalk board to follow, one by one they lifted her, until she was spat out the window with tiny little hands, innocent and soft. Some who were near the window saw her spiral downwards. Glimpsing at shards flying all about next to her, shining on her pale reflection. The ground was the only one to accept her. With open arms.