She spoke Farsi when she was angry. Those cryptic and rolling letters would spill from her stained lips. Each finely formed symbol squirmed as it littered the floor. Once they escaped, like all other words, they took on a life of their own. They would intertwine forming pictures. Each strand twisting to conform to a bystander’s viewpoint. Some would see beautiful mosaics full of flowers and songbirds. Others watched the words tangle themselves into a brier so thick no light could penetrate it. A very few saw only what she said.
Like other beings of creation she no longer noticed her own children writhing at her feet. Her attention had been drawn elsewhere.
Frustrated Hedonist 