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Lasting Happiness
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She stared anxiously at the pot of water on the stove, compelling it to boil. Though the old axiom warned of its counter effect, she had long since given up on trying to look away from the pot, unable to tear her eyes away. Tapping her foot impatiently, she began to sing quietly to herself to pass the time. It was a merry song, the one she always used to entice travelers from the road to come to her window. As she sang she only wished her tune could charm heat into the water of her pot the way it charmed most of the passerby. The thought only seemed to bring her further impatience. The impurity pulsed in her veins and she longed to release it from her body.
Her song faltered as soon as she noticed the small collection of bubbles that grew, almost comically, in a circle around the razor lying in the bottom of the pot. Her excitement echoed that of the first bubble as it was released from the bottom and rose to the surface of the water. Not long now, she thought. After the rising bubbles grew in number, she unbuttoned the cuff of her blouse and rolled the sleeve up her arm to expose the scarred flesh of her left forearm. She searched its length for a bare spot but was...
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