Day one

The air was dense as though an instance of disruption, such as a spark, could set all of the air on fire. The mouths of people, the lungs, filing suddenly with heat and plasma as the chain reaction sets the whole world alight.
But why? Why did we bask unaware in this sense air? Was it apathy or stupidity? It was some slight at the dinner table which caused mother's hackles to raise like an ocelot perched on an electrical wire. Some question gets raised regarding gratitude/ingratitude and the world proceeds to melt with gnashing and pissing.
She cleared the plates in silence, resenting everyone and wishing for great harm.
In the shower, she turned the water suddenly hot so that she could fill the room with steam and breathe it in deeply. She was breathing and applying soap to herself, rinsing with the singing rag and a very red hand, massaging the gingerly aching joints.
When she was finished, she was burnished and pleased. She lay in bed, drying her body and sensing the greatness that was to be bestowed on her in due course. The pictures on the wall displeased her and she recognized her superiority to them, nodding and stretching. What possibilities did she not have?
After breakfast, she sipped hot, black coffee. She did this not because she needed something with caffeine, nor because she enjoyed the heat/coffee flavor sensations. She most enjoyed expunging th flavors of breakfast from her mouth. Any time she had eaten, there was an opportunity for her breath to distract her. She disliked having the flavor of food already eaten in her mouth. This was not an empathy response such as, "I cannot expose another being to my garlic breath." She simply required her mouth to be clean at all times regardless of nourishment taken in.
Macaroons most acutely elicited this response. She used mint chewing gum to counteract the confection which stung the back of her throat. She ached slightly in her molars and tonsils.
She brushed her hair out to silken smooth and hung her highly-draped garments on her shoulders. She belted her caftan and put on a wide-brimmed hat and a felt poncho. Last, a silver ring in which was set a point of quartz, fitted perfectly on her left index finger.
At the office, she was known for her sharp tongue, which contrasted her friendly and slightly "floaty" demeanor otherwise. The Art Department knew her reputation and felt by turns guarded respect and resentment for her. She sat at her desk, lavishing her mouth with maroon lipstick. She pressed her lips together with a smack and blotted them on a tissue. She laughed.