"A room hung with pictures is a room hung with thoughts". That is what she told me and there was no doubt that she believed it. She had pictures everywhere. To me there was neither rhyme nor reason to the way she chose to hang her pictures.
She bought another one every time she went to the mall. When she got home she would put it in any empty space available. Every room in our house was cluttered with pictures. She was happy as a lark. She would relate over and over where this one came from, why she liked that one, how famous this artist was going to be, how much they would all be worth because of her knowledge of the fine arts.
For me they weren't "silent with thoughts". They screamed at me. They laughed at me. They talked about me when they thought I wasn't listening. They put me down when I was making love to her. They laughed at me in the shower. When I took a leak they made fun of my manhood. I could hear them whispering about me in every room. Then they began to plot against me. They were going to get rid of me but I fooled them. One Sunday when she went out to buy more of them I gathered everyone of them up and took them into the front yard. I could hear them begging me for mercy. Please don't...Please don't....I laughed, too late, I said.
I poured gasoline all over them and lit them on fire. The fire consumed them. I danced around them in glee, giggling and laughing, ha ha, ho ho, he he, ha ha. I was in heaven. I was free. Now I could have my house back.
They won't let me have any pictures where I'm living now and that is a good thing. If I ever get my hands on one of those lying, conniving bastards, I will rip it apart with my bare hands.