She only knew two things--
mice, and sky.
So, when she was injured and the sky scorned her,
the thought that she must now be a mouse drove her mad.
They had to wrap her. She wanted to kill them,
but had become a lesser even to pigeons; she was all fury and no effect.
Nothing in the sky is sick, but the ground is full of bones and graves.
She became feet without wings, dying of stillness.
Why did they touch without killing?
Didn't they know that, under her feathers, she was meat like anything else?
Days went by. She fought them. She lived. So what?
They brought her food and she tore at it.
After forever, she stopped hurting.
After forever, they took her outside and the sky was still there.
She took a step, then two. She tried her hurt place.
For her, gravity had always been reversed, and so she raised her shoulders and felt herself fall.