. . She caresses the daisy nearest to her. Its petals and stem feel fragile. With one snap of her fingers she could break it and change its life for ever. And she would get away with it, too. The other daisies would be witnesses, but they wouldn't be able to come running after her. She would leave, go to work, tend to customers as though nothing had happened. No one would notice the green stains on her fingers. No one would smell the grassy perfume on her clothes. People would walk through the park and never hear the daisies discussing the incident because daisies don't talk.
But she would never do that. Break a daisy.
. . . (continued)
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