Today's word is: Spout!

               It lay in pieces.

               The handle was smashed beyond repair, and a few shards still dug into the wall from the throw. It was difficult to tell why I was so choked over just a china teapot.

               I couldn’t hear footsteps, and none of the doors were opening. The same calm had settled as if I had stepped outside after a snowstorm. Muffled. The air was dusty, mingled with a tang of iron and her favourite aromatic ginseng. I cast my gaze from where I laid. Chairs were tipped in every direction, the table itself was on its side. At some point, the crystalline light above had been taken down, but I couldn’t see where it was.

               The light from outside dampened the room in pastel shades, not really bright enough to show me what happened, but enough that I saw every picture of me that hung around the room was ruined. A fork stuck out of my forehead in the family photo above the sofa; and that triggered everything.

               Darrel told me I wasn’t his father. He screamed for his brother and screamed for himself. I remember I told them the truth, and they blamed me for it. I think I do too, really.

               The back of my hand was chafed, a little raw. It was Julie’s locket, open with me and the boys inside. What else could I tell them? It clicked shut, but I knew I couldn’t really shut her out. I’m not even supposed to yet; I’m still new to being widowed.

               Everything I felt must’ve hit Darrel over a hundred times. The room was evidence enough of that. I wish I knew where he was, he was ever the delicate child. I wanted to sort the chairs, fix the pictures. But I needed to get my priorities straight.

               My face was lined from the grooves in the planks on the floor. Did I sleep here all night? Probably. I just hope everyone else found somewhere to stay. I must’ve been out for the count. Dirt drifted off me as I rose, but as I did, I felt a dagger between my ribs. Shaking, I looked down.

               Part of the teapot stuck out, cut through the cotton, skin and flesh. I wondered how deep the thing was lodged. It was kinda funny, in a way. It trickled blood a bit like the dregs at the end of the pot. I grit my teeth and yanked. A spray of blood, but it wasn’t that bad after all.

               Still. It wasn’t that which hurt the most.