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a little bit of some prose i have been writing...it hasnt got a title coz am not sure how it will end yet =3

I dont remember being afraid of anything, not when I was at home anyway. Memory reminds me though I once found a scorpion in the dryer part of my (then) nearby forest. I was on my way back from the very involuntary walk I had to take every morning to the stream to fetch water. I set the huge and painfully heavy piece of art I called a pot and found a pit to place it in, one not narrow enough to fail in supporting my delicate vessel. I proceeded to cup my hands around the little creature and I guess the weakness of its venom saved my life as me giving it very little space to move infuriated it and I assume it must have stung me a few times...or maybe it was the thick and course skin of my palms which over time, as much as I regret, has whithered away to leave a smooth and less dense layer of skin. But one like me, with little hope of marriage has just as little use for protective skin. Anyway, I went on to decide that if my little captive was to be of any use to me, it had to be dead.so I drowned it. Without any hesitation I dropped it into my pot and watched it drop to the bottom after it made little attempt to retain its life. Before picking my pot up I fished the scorpion which by now had curled into a hungry moon and held it by its tail, swinging it back and forth on my way home. Not long after my mother set eyes on it the cane set on my back. I was warned not to import diabolic creatures into the home, especially not her husband's, or my husband's for that matter. I uttered a few words about not wanting to get married married after all and was denied at two whole mealtimes, just to demonstrate what a life without a husband would generally consist of...'nothing!' she said. I wasnt scared of that either...now I wish sometimes I had feared 'nothing' amongst other things.