GIRL 1

A girl sits on a corner. Her head is full of inquiry. What is she thinking? Maybe who her next target is. Maybe who the guy across the street is. Maybe what she will wear tomorrow. She rises and smells the dampness of the day. She walks down the path disturbing the peaceful puddles that lay before her. “Leave us alone!” they yell at the top of their non-existing lungs. She does not hear them because puddles can't yell or talk. Their language is the splash made by her foot. She waves her hands through the air, freely feeling the mist. She grabs a portion of the fog and forms a ball. Throwing it to the heavens, it soon splashes on a rock. The water runs down filling all the crevasses; making shapes that can only be named by this girl. She passes an elderly oak. It is majestic and proud. In the branch above her, two squirrels fight to the death. Each had damaged the other’s pride. None of it would have happened if they didn't want the others’ nuts. She walks no particular place, just walking, because that is what must be done. Her hands find a warm home in her pockets as she takes a deep breath of the clean air. She stops as something in the grass catches her eye. A stone lies in the grass before her. She grasps it, feeling it; she holds it close. She ponders something. This rock has just as much significance as a coin, and yet we put value in one and not the other. One is made by the Earth and one by man. Why do you care for the one with a dead man's face?