IT WAS CLOUDY again, with a gray and moody sky that had gained popularity the past two weeks, and she couldn't take It anymore. The past month she had been isolating herself, immersed in a draining routine, a cage created by its own prisoner. But even so, she had gone to play football one or two times, perhaps searching for a familiar silhouette, perhaps searching for happiness.
Leaving her gnawed pen on the desk, which was in front of the window, she got up from the chair and was soon putting on her sport shoes while facing the door. Her fingers trembled with energy and insecurity at the same time, unable to properly lace her white sneakers.
Once ready, she hesitated in the entrance of her room, her hand fidgeting with the pommel and her stare lost somewhere between the door and the floor.
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She opened the hand to properly hold it and make her way out, but in the last moment she frailed.
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