Lady Bugs (Short prose)

I don't like their wings. They make buzzing noises around the room, like wasps, like scary things. They come in through holes in the window, hordes of them, all coming inside. They like to sit here, by the window. Little ladies sitting on the window sill, with their red and black dresses, with ugly wings. I like to sit by the window too, I look at their wings. They can fly, fly out the holes in the window, to escape and to live, but I can't. Their wings don't work for me, why not me? Why the pretty ladies? I can be pretty, he thinks so. That's why he won't let me out, because I'm so pretty. The door is always locked, the window is always sealed except for the little holes where the ladies come in. The ladies that don't have a ring on their finger, a ring to hold them back, to keep them in a room, a ring attached to a ball and chain. The ladies with their wings sticking out from under their dresses, gently pull them, one, two. If I can't escape then neither can you.