Nothing but nylon and string wrapped again and again around the twisted bough and waving in the breeze.
There’s no escape.
Here they will be kept until death.
But is this not the best place for them?
Better than for them to rise and split apart.
At least now they are not alone and can die together.
A fate they should embrace.
They will die whole, rather than that bitter end of bursting beyond where birds have flown.
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