When Millie was five years old, she had a book about clouds. Her head wasn't always up there with them, but she looked straight up at the centre of the neverending blue and dreamed of flying, floating all the way up into forever.
When Millie was older, she had a skateboard. She shot about as if sheer speed could break gravity, learning all the tricks to throw herself up and touch the edge of the sky. She still dreamed of flying, forwards and upwards like a rocket, and for minutes at a time she was.
When Millie was a little older still, she had a surfboard. The waves took her higher and farther, and no matter how they tried to bump and break her, she was always on top, aiming for the open horizon. She dreamed of flying, and made it happen almost every day, no matter what the sea threw at her.
Now Millie's older, and she has a bottle. Rubber is good for nothing but to be used and abused. Balloons are popped, tires are bumped and burst, elastic bands stretched and snapped. You wouldn't see a work of art made of rubber, or people treating it with care. It's there to be put to the test of its limits. At least, that's what she's come to know.
Sometimes she dreams of flying, or the edge of the sky to touch, or the horizon that was hers, but she's been looking at the gutter for a while now.