The paper tore in half, shredding, leaving little ruffles along the tear. Then she tore it again and again, tears spilling out over the crumpled paper. ‘I hate you, I hate you’ she murmured with each new tear. Then the pile accumulated on her table, normally so neat and organized. She stopped, then in frustration swept her hand across the pieces pushing them to the ground. They fall in a snowfall, avalanching. The dog came to see what was the matter, nuzzling its head into her lap. She absentmindedly pet its head as the tears flowed. The small pieces of paper shifted in the breeze coming in through the curtained window, but didn’t move from their places in the shag rug. The pink rug often reminded her of Jamaica. She didn’t know why, it just did. The small frills would come unraveled every now and then and she would spend the afternoon, lying on her stomach re-braiding them every one. The paper moved. She sighed, wiping away the tears, and bent down to collect them into the waste paper basket. She nodded firmly. Yes that was where tears belonged, in the trash, forgotten, ready to be put out on the curb Friday morning when the garbage collectors come. They would take them away so that she wouldn’t have to think about them. She stood up and in a dreamlike state wandered out the door of her bedroom. The curtains, decorated with primroses to match the shag carpet glared at her back, watching her walk away. The wind rustled them once again, then they sagged back against the screen. The curtains flowed back and forth, and once again, the tears of paper rustled, trying to get out of the wire trash basket. The dog wandered back into the room, curious from the rustling noise and stuck its head into the basket, searching for the source of the noise. He pulled his head out, finding nothing, but knocked over the basket, shedding tears all over the shag rug.