garbage

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing

"I just think it's fucking bullshit."

"Language."

"It's a free fucking country."

Roxanne heaves a sigh she has heaved evermore in the kitchen while she stirs a pot of spaghetti on the stove. It comes with a crash of thunder outside, backdropped by a constant stream of rain pattering the metal roof.

"I'm not saying it's not," she begins, tentatively. "I am just making sure you don't get used to using those words."

"Why?" Eileen spits a scoff she has spat evermore at the dinner table while she shoves her chair back on its legs. It comes with a screech against the stained wood paneling on the floor, backdropped by more groaning. "If you think you can, like, shape my habits to your own ideals or whatever you're dead wrong."

"If you start using those words at school, you'll get in trouble with the teachers." Roxanne tosses a cursory glance at her daughter, who glares back. Her amber eyes are unflinching and wild. "You don't need any more attention like that."

"I'm not going around foaming at the mouth attacking people, Mom! Nobody's dead! God." Eileen breaks stare only to roll her eyes. She mutters, "Who says I haven't started."

"I don't even know what you were mad about in the first place. It's about the cursing now."

"You can be upset about two things at once."

"I didn't say you couldn't. This is exhausting, Eileen— can't we just have one night where you're not upset about some big injustice in the world? Why can't you just be here, in the present, instead of fighting some villain or-or championing some rebel cause against the government?"

"You don't have to separate villain and the government, you know."

"This is what I mean!"

Eileen shuts the notebook. She looks to her right now, out the window. The sky burns bright tangerine and lavender. Her pointed ears twitch to the sound of canaries trilling even through the glass. Her mouth curls to one side.

She throws her arms in the air. "Fine! Let me be just like you, Mom!"

Eileen shoves to her feet, palms out in case Roxanne decides she should sit back down. She does not. She never could decide for her daughter, as much as she tried. Eileen puts her hands on her hips and furrows her eyebrows, mouth, nose, anything she can reach.

She starts to squawk. "Eileen Laurel Hastings! Don't you dare slam that door!"

"Eileen, stop, you're g—"

"— You're going to wake up the entire town! Oh, the horror! Being perceived!" A swoon, then Roxanne tries unsuccessfully once more to cut in.

"Just calm down—!"

"The government is so perfect! I could never stand up against it or criticize it! But what if people see us? They'll surely rip out our teeth, feed us rat poison– oh, the horror! Treating us like DOGS!"

"Enough!" Roxanne brings down an iron fist, not on her daughter but on the counter. The wood splinters under her grip, velvet and easy to mold. Her lips pull back in a warning snarl, but Eileen has always held an affinity for poking bears. She stands steady, her own fists tight.

Ground held is only held when encroached upon.

Breathing heavily, Roxanne chews her words, "You don't have to like it. But you live under my roof. I am here to keep you safe. I cannot keep you safe if you insist, insist, and insist on bringing attention to yourself and this family. I don't care about what is right, I care about what is safe. Until I am dead and buried, I will keep you safe. If it means keeping you here forever, then so be it."

Eileen catches every other word. Even through a filter of rage, it only fuels the fire.

It would be easier, she thinks, if I was a bird. What damage can birds do when they're angry, really?

She turns on her heels, and leaves. On her way out, she rips the front door from its hinge.

It was falling apart anyway. There's no escape for some.