Peace

At Monday breakfast, Lucille would not shut up. Two ounces into her cranberry juice, Faye could feel the words rubbing wrong - way in the back, as if her molars were chewing tin foil. "Aw, Lucille, give it a rest," she said, looking down at her plate. Faye had delivered the instruction at an acceptable volume: loud enough to be heard by its target, yet soft enough to whiff on by the other tables. Having a choice to make, Lucille picked her path, and went off extra loud on "people not letting people speak their mind free country I don't gotta offer nice to anybody 'til they earn it" and so on/forth. Faye reached over under the table and tased the hell outta Lucille, catching her as she slumped, guiding her head gently until it rested on the gingham-checked tablecloth. "You didn't give her a chance to regroup," one of the administrators said later, visiting Faye in her room. "You didn't warn her; she didn't see it coming." Faye took a sip of coffee and nodded, then shrugged. "The eyes are useless when the mind is blind," she whispered, and took another cookie from the snack plate.