Disclaimer: Must I say it again?
-Broken Glass-
That flower jar. It was ugly. Horribly so. She'd never liked it.
Its black and white zags and zigs irritated her. It was so dark, so miserable looking.
She would come home, see it sitting on the table by the door, and she would get mad.
So mad, she would yell at her husband. So mad, she would smack her daughter. So mad, she would punch her husband. So mad, she would burst into frustrated tears.
Then her husband would gather her in his arms and rock her till she'd cried all her tears. Then she would apologize to her daughter. Then she would go cook supper. Suppers were always quiet.
She came home one day and saw it. She decided to dispose of it.
Pick it up, with its miserable designs. Drop it from atop the table. Falling, falling. Hits the floor. Shards of glinting, pointy pottery fly everywhere.
She breathes a sigh of relief. It's gone.
When she comes home the next day, a new jar stands there. It's a nice, pretty yellow. It isn't ugly. Nothing dark or miserable here.
There would be no broken glass from this vase.
