The shadow of the shattered glass in the window left a wound in the floor like an open mouth of sharp teeth.  She sat, sad and traced the crooked edges of bent light.

The window was broken because she had thrown a speaker through it.

She threw a speaker through the window because a bird had gotten into the basement.

She wasn't sure why or how the bird had gotten in, but it had.  It kept flinging itself into the glass and she wasn't sure which would break first, her heart or its neck.

She only had one speaker and she hated silence. There was always music in the background, without pause, without exception. But even the buzzing in her ears was better than the desperate hollow sounding thuds of wings against the window. 

She had tried to ignore it but the persistant rythmn punctuated the static from her stereo with a frequency she could not pretend away.

So,
She threw the speaker.
The bird flew away.
And she was left to sit in the light and silence.

She began to wonder if she should have just let well enough alone,
but, outside
a bird began to sing.