josie was out there yelling at the lake, stomping her feet, telling it off. the lake, with that peculiar equanimity of the inanimate, remained impervious to her abuse. josie was furious. she was white and red and shaking all over. spittle flew all viscous and bubbly from her lips into the water.

shouts turned to curses turned to threats. she would like to poison the lake with chemicals and agitate its surface with pumps and propellers. she would drink the entire lake and vomit it out again. she would bring the sun closer and dry it up. the lake rippled inconspicuously.

eventually her voice grew hoarser, weaker, then silent, but her pique was not spent. with irate care she removed her blouse and jeans and underwear, folded them all neatly and placed them by a tree. did the wind give the lake a chill, a nervous shudder? or was the lake cackling at her futile intensity?

she took one, two, three steps towards the lake, then suddenly dove in, slicing through the water with the honed edge of her anger. the sound of her entry, sharp, as piercing as she, startled squirrels for miles around. she made her incision across the water to the very center of the lake; then down, down to the bottom she dove, her hate a surgical probe with a heated tip.

there at the bottom she found the source of the corruption, the tumor that would spread to fill the entire lake, that, if unchecked, would reach out and subdue her hatred, would fill her, too, with a false love for the lake, for its ridiculous fish and pointless sands, for the way it boldly stole the beauty of the sky; the corruption that now saw its opportunity. what a mistake she had made. it reached out to her with long, sad arms, and pulled her close, tenderly. her body almost immediately began to decay.