Queen Louise / Windy Hell

Louise, Queen of Greenwood, sat serenely, ringed fingers pressed firmly together on the armrest of her high-backed chair. It was an antique, from her Great Aunt's estate, once commissioned by some King of Belgium. Through the large window of her living room, she gazed below, surveying the roofs of all of those who lived below her; which was everybody in a 50 block radius, hers being the highest dwelling, a 5th floor walk-up on the tallest hill in Brooklyn next to the the old Victorian cemetery. High and mighty, she reigned over that Windy Hell, seeing all the way to the sea and its ships on her throne of mahogany and velvet.

Louise wore only the finest silk blouses and cashmere skirts from Bergdorf's, bought for her by her Great Aunt back in the 70's when she was still a young and beautiful woman, all now threadbare and moth-bitten but still luxurious on her skin. In the quiet of her palace, the hostile wind that swept unrelenting over the land battered the hanging Swedish Ivy on her wrought iron balcony, so hard that that it knocked impatiently against the glass of the french door. She wished that plant would just finally fucking shatter that glass into a thousand shards and land in a crash of crystal upon her impeccable varnished wood floor, so that the whirl of dead leaves would barge in with the wind and take her with it, back out over the lowlands, the roofs full of satellites and cell phone towers, through the street canyons alongside plastic bag tumbleweeds, down the hill, out to the sea.