her hands are always washing the grains of rice, the skin on her fingers peeling off. even the lines on her palms seem tired and worn out, yet she refuses to rest. her back always forms an arch as she grips the handle of the broom, sweeping the fallen strands of hair. her feet are always on the wet rag, scrubbing the dark spots on the floor. every word that rolls off her tongue is always so sharp and cold on the edges, and her voice is always so big and bold. spit fly out of her mouth as she scolds your brother, why can't you understand? it's basic math! and they stain the pages of his book.