#76

She hums softly to herself as the sidewalk sweeps by and the breeze tugs at her flowered dress. She stops, kneels, brings her face closer to bright, colorful pedals on long green stalks. Yellows, whites, purples, calling to bees, beckoning butterflies. She places her thumb and finger at a flower's base and with a flick of the wrist snaps it off cleanly. A warning shot cracks through the air. The flowers wish for legs with which to run. She snaps another, and another, and another. A floral massacre. Anther after anther, silenced. She stands, takes a few steps, kneels again, continues. When the carnage is over, she strolls off, smiling. A bouquet bleeding in her arms.