Seraphim's Journal of Muses

I am a murderer.

Well. Almost.

The woman who I share my office with drives me crazy. She treats her pot plant, Sid, with more concern and respect than she does me. I often feel like something that just crawled in from the swamp.
And so.
After one particularly nasty incident where after she left work for the day I was so angry I was almost in tears, my Hubby came to pick me up. I was so angry that as I was clearning up my stuff, I swung my arm out a little too far and knocked over a bottle of whiteboard cleaner. All over Sid. Hastily, Hubby and I cleaned it up.
But now Sid is dying.
And my collegue is so terribly disappointed over it. She asks every single day if I think Sid looks any better today. And I say perhaps he is perking up, after all. But he is not. He's simply shrivelling and going brown, despite her tender loving care.
And I just don't know what to say. I feel so guilty. I killed Sid.