The Lil' Ol' Lady in Cell Four

by - June 15, 2020




An ant torn in two. Cries of a child streamed down her lined cheek. It was not a big deal to them. It was the kind of tears that are shed for things so small you can't string a thread through them. A hand went to cup the corpse. The world had cases much more vast than an old lady that reeked of a child. Floods tore homes to dust day to day. An ant? What use is that, live or dead?

Thus, they paid no mind to dry sea brine water that made her cheeks wet and then wouldn't stop. So in her corner of the cell she called her home, she let out a wail that said she was too far for saving. So what if they had torn the ant? So what if they put their boot on it, morn after morn? If they lit it on fire, and let it burn to crisp dust? The ant was already dead. 

But, in between her gasps, the lady asked, "Did you have to rip it more? If your heart was to break, would you want to smash the shards again? She was my friend, and you killed her. But she was an ant, and you did not mean to. She was dead. Now her corpse is torn-- will this be my fate too?"

The prison guards stared at her. Yep, no doubt, the lil' old lady in cell four was mad. 

Four days later, she was also dead.
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