Cutting Scenes - The Fine Line

Emily O’Brien’s mouth dropped open, as her eyes magnified.
“Wha’ … what … wha’ …? But what poison do you use? That’s all I
wanna know?”
“Ah, but I don’t use poison—Emily—no, I use love.”
Emily O’Brien’s brows furrowed together in serious
consternation. “What? You can’t be serious, love? You mean you
love the ants?”
Betty Ross smiled laconically and sipped her coffee. “Yes,
I guess you could say that, although respect might be a better
word.”
“Love …? Respect—but they’re only ants—they’re insects.”
“They are living beings, Emily.”
Emily O’Brien stood up uneasily. She felt she was talking
to a crazy woman; either that or a witch. She had just seen a
movie about witches and Emily O’Brien whose I.Q. was only a
point or two above a baloney sandwich, believed whatever she saw
on the big screen, especially if there were any big-name stars
in the picture. She bid her neighbor a hasty farewell and
hurried out the back door; lighting her cigarette almost before
the screen door slapped shut and inhaling on it greedily, as she
hurried towards her home and safety.
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