To Seethe... or Not...

The woman didn't know that her life was small. Not small in the satisfying sense. But small in the sense that she herself was small - small of heart. She plotted revenge for those who wronged her, gossiped brutally to wound those who she thought inferior, and didn't give the time of day for new folk or new ideas. Had she been told that her life was small, she wouldn't have cared. Cruel people rarely do.

Little could be done to change her predicament. For predicament it was. Her life hung on a balance, tipping over little by little, basking in the glow of her feeling that she was right without question. She demanded her due, and found all others wanting. And at night, she seethed.

It was a small existence.

The woman didn't know that her life was small. Not small in the cruel, meaningless sense. But small in the sense that she lived in a little village, did the same tasks daily, and knew better than to spend her time plotting revenge for those who wronged her. When she met new people, she listened - she hoped she might learn something to add to her life. Had she been told that her life was small, she wouldn't have understood. Satisfied people rarely do.

Little could be done to change her predicament. Though predicament might not be the right word. Her life hung on a balance, tipping over little by little, into the hands of the people in her village and the few new persons who came her way. She demanded nothing, and found that life had much wonder to offer. And at night, she slept.

It was an existence that mattered.

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