#32 The World Beneath Our Feet

by Craig Scott

Marie winced as she heard a distinct crunch under her hand. She gingerly lifted the offending limb, the damn things never did quite what she told them to, and was dismayed to find the crushed flower. The daffodil’s petals had been reduced to a yellow mush and the stalk had been snapped neatly in half. Marie felt like she had been punched in the gut. A life, a unique and precious life, had just been snuffed out and it was all her fault.

An orange butterfly with two black smudges along its wings that vaguely resembled eyes, landed on her nose causing an involuntary sneeze. The butterfly then flitted about almost drunkenly, with no particular destination in mind. It’s probably looking for the crushed flower Marie thought miserably. That just made her feel worse. Her bottom lip began to quiver and even though she tried to fight it she burst into tears.

“There, there Marie, don’t cry.” Her mother implored and lifted her into her arms. Marie struggled, flailing her limbs with all of her strength. She didn’t want to be comforted. The flower was gone and all the sweet words in the world wouldn’t change that.

“What’s got into her?” Her mother asked.

Her father just shrugged. “She’s probably just hungry or tired. I don’t think babies worry about anything else.”