It was quite special . The sketch's likeness quite close, if not perfect. Rusty she was, and an amateur. The words, what it all had meant to her. The only way she knew of expressing. But  perhaps valueless in those hooded eyes. For her, the doors were locked, stated reasons plenty. No response deemed necessary. Then again, she had no right of any kind anyway.

 Ah well..she thought, as she dropped the match on the shreds, and watched them burst into flames. Then the tears came, a flood of pent up anger and emotions at the unfairness of it all. They raked her body, making her choke. Her vision started to swim. Things became hazy.

And suddenly the scene dissolved. She had woken up from the dream.