On her birthday, Maria woke in silence, requiring no alarm clock, just the warmth of the summer morning, to rouse her. She just pushed away her thin blankets and walked over to her mirror, to stare into her own starved eyes, until she felt real, looking nowhere else until she felt this accomplished.

On her birthday, Maria donned light clothes and rushed out of her house, feeling as if she left nothing behind her. She just jumped onto her bicycle and rode into the countryside like the wind that lifted her dark curly hair as she gained sped, the hair that she hoped would be enough to shield her in the event of a crash or fall that she knew wouldn’t happen.

On her birthday, Maria abandoned age; she abandoned the lines that were starting to form with the stress and the years being as they were. She just let it go, because when one is in the countryside with no helmet, no home, and no friends present to celebrate a day of which one does not even recognize the significance, one can afford the luxury to be ageless.

On her birthday, Maria threw her shoes off her pale feet, and admired smooth pebbles and sharp twigs. She walked along a shallow stream, resoluteness carved into those lines on her face, painted in her deep blue eyes that were flecked with all the colors of nature. Maria watched the wind blow the waters of the stream, and ignored it as it continued to pass through her curls.

On her birthday, Maria sought a spot in nature from which she could not see a single road, could not hear a single car. When she reached this place, Maria danced to the song of the bird on the wind, the rustle in the trees, the crack of twigs against pebbles. She danced to the song of her own screaming, until she could scream no more, and collapsed, with no attachments. The wind still played with her curls, entangling them with leaves it stole from the trees.

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On the day after Maria’s birthday, a passing motorist found her bike; later, a hiker found her body. It was unidentified, until Maria’s neighbor returned from work at five, and, like clockwork, turned on the news at six. At 6:05, he called the police station.

Two days after Maria’s birthday, a distant cousin arrived to carry out her will, which simply requested that all her possessions be donated to whoever could use them, and that Maria be cremated. It also asked that her remains be scattered where her body was found, but this was a busy woman; she scattered Maria’s ashes on the road by which she left her bicycle. Her house was put up for sale, and Maria was quickly forgotten.

A year after Maria’s birthday, a family with two young children finally moved into her house. They celebrated every birthday with raucous parties and many friends and family members. When relatives drove into town for these parties, they blew up the dirt along Maria’s road with the speed in their tires.
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Inspired by "El Viento" by Manu Chao.