The old wooden door burst open, tearing from its rusted hinges.
She staggered out from the shadows, the brilliant sun shining down upon her filthy, tear-streaked face. Her eyelids fluttered, her head pounded. She inhaled deeply, her first breath of fresh air in weeks, maybe months.
Free… at last.
But not for long…
The massive talon locked onto her ankle. Cold, scaly, unforgiving – it dragged her slowly back towards the darkness of the rickety shed.
From bloody knees, she clawed violently at brittle tufts of dead grass.
She won’t go back. She can’t.
They’d never let her see daylight again.
The Weekday One Hundred 