murr-ma
“What she said was always strange. It had happened long ago. It seemed insignificant. And yet it was something you remembered forever. The words as well as the story. The voice as much as the words.”
The girl was struck by a recognition she wanted to give back and couldn't. How to undo what had been decided? You could not, of course. The seven years had come apart with one glance into those hazel eyes flecked with gold.
Marcescence; the leaves turn brown but do not drop; she withered yet refused to withdraw.
She'd learned that you should never tell people what to do because one group would follow and never learn to use their minds. Critical thinking was best taught through force. Contraction is the oyster that sucks the sand and spits out the pearl. Most are too impatient and will not wait for the hard stone to fill an empty palm.
The other group will be contrary just for the sake of rebellion. The girl fell into this company and whiled the hours away by being disagreeable. Her lips pursed around an indivisible line; she liked being part of the procession without performing. To look was to separate the Ego for the Soul, and the girl could not risk such close contact. There were leaves that never touched the ground before they rotted.
She drank her coffee with little strokes, and the end was a cup of foam she swiped with a finger.
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