She was 9.

Several steps to the right, she discovered the depth of her constant sadness.

Those plastic stars on the ceiling fought it out, using the plaster as a battlefield.

Shifting, every few seconds, blending cries and screams with glowing shapes.

Their pointed fives click-clacked as she gazed in awe.

Greenish-yellow geometry soaking up the tears.

Words she couldn't understand beltedout.

The anger was astonishingly real.

There was fear, but also strange curiosity.

As she pondered, she drifted back to sleep.

"We must solve this puzzle before the sun finds us, this is our last chance for hope"

And with that they disappeared.

From the skyline above her bed.

From the windows.

From her memory.

She was 9.