I smell it now.
Disgust creeps onto my face.
The stench of greed soaking into me.
Emanating from every pore of hers.
In the room, there’s a pretty vase of dahlias on the dresser.
I should focus on it.
Not on the selfish brat in front of me.
She stares up at me, all freckles and innocence, methodically breaking up the rich chocolate, and somehow managing to shove every piece between her dainty lips.
The pieces that drop smear the floor,
Her sticky fingers painting an unwanted masterpiece on the white doorframe.
Only a child.
Doesn’t know any better.
Perhaps.
Shall I excuse her?
I’ll come again.
In time, as I know, nothing will change.
Nature, human nature, does very little in the wake of change.
Perhaps I am wrong.
But.
The scent.
I smell it now.
Disgust creeps onto my face.
The stench of greed soaking into me.
Emanating from every pore of hers.
In the room, there’s a vase of dead dahlias on the dresser.
I should focus on it.
Not on the selfish lady in front of me.
She stares at me now, all long lashes and scorn, methodically trying on one piece of
jewelry after the next, discarding every choice, and somehow managing to find fault
and flaw with every piece.
She’s the same, but I can’t remember if she was as picky as a child.
I think not.
Instead of staining the doorframe with pleasant chocolate, she now smudges it with
her vanity. Destroys the blankness with her selfishness. Fills the room with her
greed.
I am content.
Because I am right.
She has not changed.
I am happy.
Because her scent is no longer masked by fresh flowers, sweets, and youth.
