“The longer I live, the more I am certain that the great difference between the great and insignificant is energy.”
Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton
She hated herself. To prove it was to study Edith grind a task south with perfected vexation or bite chunks of happy from folk. No thought to anchoring herself like a rotten tooth in their mouths.
A woman of ill-gotten means nearing fifty, it looked, Edith entertained her own wretchedness through her life’s course, which nature, unknown to her, would shorten in five days coming. Folk brawled inside themselves and turned their backs on sight of her to duck the onslaught of flinging shit.
The gray stone spoke her life and death: Lying in Heavenly Turmoil, gifted by adoring backbiters.
(c) 2012 Totsymae