I have a case of stolen flowers on my hands. Or, a stolen flower pot, as my almost-always-politically-correct father reminded me. They were gifted last Saturday. Not completely flowered yet. Teeny tiny buds of promise.
With love and care, my mother watered them last evening and hung them up out on our front porch.
That was yesterday.
This morning, they were gone. Just as suddenly as she had fallen in love with their innocent splendor; just that suddenly, she had been left broken-hearted.
With a mopey face, she wandered around all day today, mourning her lost children.
And, here I wonder, which evil child of Satan was cruel enough to steal a bunch of flowers?! I agree that we are in the middle of a recession. That we have to face high gas prices. That jobs are not aplenty. But stealing a flower pot in the middle of the night is perhaps a characteristic that can be attributed to one without a conscience.
I hope, Monsieur/Mademoiselle Thief (Yes, that is exactly what you are. A goddamn thief), that you may never be content for denying my mother a simple joy that had her smiling yesterday. I hope that you can’t sleep at night because you are haunted by the screams of the tiny lives that you have separated from their rightful owner. I hope that you never die a happy person.
And, if a person is capable of stealing flowers, what else are they capable of?