Mona

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She stunk. I’m not talking who just farted stunk; I mean dead dog rolling in a landfill stunk. I rolled her over on her side so that I could clean up the massive amounts of vomit. I thought about rolling her on her back and leaving her there to choke on her regurgitated supper, but that would go against the code. Silly me and my need for honor in the world. Mona whimpered and curled into the fetal position on the sea foam green bathroom tile. Disgusted, I grabbed towels from under the sink to soak up the contents of her last meal.  From the looks of it, she should avoid mixing spaghetti and tequila. I grabbed a washcloth and wet it in the sink. Kneeling beside her, I pulled Mona’s corn silk hair away from her caked lips. A pity, really. I used to think she was so pretty. And smart; Mona was going somewhere. Now I spend every weekend cleaning her up off the bathroom floor. Pity. Mona turned to look at me, her chocolate eyes glassy, swimming with alcohol. “Leave me alone, Caroline. Stop being a little bitch.” She grabbed one of the soiled towels and shoved it under her head as a makeshift pillow. Knowing that if she was talking, she was on the upside, I stood to leave. As I closed the door, I whispered, “Goodnight, Sis.”

 

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