Mara hangs up her cell.
Her co-workers are still laughing.
Just a second ago she was, too.
But then—
her husband, her husband… he called… he… said those words.
“Our daughter is dead.”
Her co-workers keep laughing.
The wall clock dares to keep ticking.
Mara grabs her keys and hobbles to her car.
Singing Birds.
Blue sky.
Not a single fucking cloud.
A girl, that is not her girl, jumps a rope.
Mara screams. Mara screams, loud and long,
because she just can’t bear the sounds that life makes as it keeps going on.
