Poisonous words spill easily from her lips, a shattered pitcher of milk weeping upon cold ceramic tile, crawling out along the veined highway of grout lines, soaking in at the weak spots and leaving a permanent mark.
Spilled milk can be wiped away. Shattered glass can be swept. But what of her poisonous words? Does she wish she could gather up those words, as the farmer’s wife gathers her eggs on a bright winter’s morning yet unspoiled by greetings and banalities? Does she wish she could reel them in, just as the fisherman pulls in his fish at the end of the day?
Does she wish she would spend her words more carefully?
No. Seeing poisonous words hit their mark; seeing the pain and the anguish they leave behind; seeing her words soak into the skin, no, into the very soul of a person is much too gratifying. She enjoys seeing marriages ripped apart; friends fighting friends; children turned against mothers.
She will spend her words as she pleases. In the end, she may lose a few friends. But she considers it a fair enough exchange.
For this week's
Trifecta Writing Challenge
, participants were challenged to write a piece from 33 to 333 words using the third definition of poisonous.
Labels: fiction Trifecta Writing Challenge