We can be more than they make us.

Murmurs of punishment are spoken into the room where her shackles hang her. Her eyes are closed and refuse to open; her heart slows in tranquility, finally accepting her position.

You can be more than they made you.

She cracks her eyes open, peeling crusted sadness from the seam. The voice worm from one ear to the other. The arguing increases and they notices her awakened.

You can be more than they stifled you.

“Stifled?” she mouths, her voice long since erased.

You can be more than this cell.

She spent months, she thinks, in this musty and humid square. She knows nothing else now.

You can be more. Be more, don’t give in. The voice is pleading and desperate. She wonders who would fight for her like this.

You can be more than they made you. Use your voice.

“I can be more…”

The people turn to her. “What did you say?” a guard asks and leans into her space. Ignore them. Incredulity ripples through the crowd of faces, too many to separate in her mind.

Speak from the heart.

She shakes her chains trying to reach for her chest.

Not the one they stole, it is useless as it bumps blood through you. Reach out to the very soul of yourself. And Speak!

She is quiet. The words do not flood her as she hoped but something registers. She opens her mouth and they come to her, willing and ready.

“I am more than my flesh.” The words like a long lost poem echoing as she pullers the air around her.

“I am more than my blood.” Particles of soil rise in a diamond pattern encompassing her.

“I am more than my bones.” Her hands flex and bend in odd shapes, drawing from within.

“I am more than my name.” The skin surrounding her nails start to peel and crack, the vessels in her eyes burst and flood the white, her eardrums pop.

“I am free.” The pressure flees to every corner of the room and pushes to make space for her.

A wall gives away to grass; the others break and crash.

She is free.