 On the cage, the sun shines through orange clouds, needles of light poke the dark dust. The windows have been cursed, they open by themselves and shatter into the dirt. Branches hang over the roof, great fog pours from the attic window like powder. The chimney breaks crack. He wears a baseball hat over eyes that shrink into black marbles. His hands turn to ears of dry wheat. His voice deepens. He walks out of the forest. He finds the door and turns the rusty knob. Paint chips drift down to the ground. Inside, he finds a TV. He slaps its screen. Slap. It shatters shorts of glass into his face. Above him pictures hang on the wall and one eye is full of fear. Long hair wiggling over their shoulders. The people float like balloons.