I wrapped myself in a bitter coat. It smelled of leaves from the bottom of the pile, without sun, where worms burrow and life rots.
The coat fit snugly, but occasionally, I shook it upon others and wounded their eyes or soured their smiles. I was without smiles myself, for the venomous coat left no room for joy. Then I did not want the coat for it began to burn my skin. But I refused to drop it, even when angels tried to pull it from me.
I became lost in the coat, for it expanded and covered all of me. I was terrified and I ran, stumbled and ran.
Then I fell into a pond. My feet hit the slime on the bottom, and I complained in disgust. But the algae and slime were cool, and they softened my feet. They slid over my prickled knees and soothed them too. Then a minnow swam into my coat with me. He turned and swam out.
I watched him escape, but I was afraid to try to escape for he swam below my submerged chest, and I couldn’t see where I would go if I swam out. So I plunged below. Spiny weeds brushed my face. Still I swam.
My lungs heaved, and I floated up. The water broke from my face, and wind slipped over my lashes, gingerly drying them.
The coat was gone, my body light. I tried to climb from the pond, but my jellied legs wobbled. Above me stood the people I had scorned.
They ran to me. Pulling on my arms, they dragged me into the light and helped brush the sand from my hair.
My mud-smeared eyes looked to them, but they wiped the mud off too. Then I cried, and they cried with me. And because of them I knew the power of seventy times seven.