Betty on Sunday Morning

The door slammed shut and Betty cringed in her blankets. The smell of sweat lingered and tears soaked her pillow. It was four-thirty on Sunday morning. She had been here countless times. On the floor beside the bed lay her dress alongside an empty box of condoms. The rain outside bounced off the walls and hit Betty’s ears with a piercing shriek. As she cried she shouted in agony, the despair in her voice hopelessly searching for a caring soul. She was as she had always been, alone.


The shouts gave way to whimpers as she calmed herself slowly. Her delirium was ill contrived. Thoughts swirled in her mind and the circle half turned made her rise in joy. For all the substance her soul lacked her body made up for with a sweet release that lit a fire in her eye.


Her hand reached for a box of cigarettes in her purse. The smoke irritated her nose a bit as she suckled furiously.


She stepped in the shower, the cigarette still pressed in her lips. The water rained down and soaked the stick. She washed away her worries as she spit out the saturated tobacco. She turned off the water and dripping past the corridor entered into a dark kitchen. The marble at her feet was cold and distracted her more from her blistering questions. She opened a cupboard and gently caressed the crystal inside. She pulled out a short pudgy glass and filled it with whiskey.


Betty, the crystal and the whiskey all took a seat in the living room. She sat naked on the black leather couch sliding back and forth between dreams. The rain at the window knocked, swooning at the delicate flower inside. Betty was soft and she knew it. She had resolved to inherit granite features but her flaws were transparent. She had relied on another to fulfill her. As always she had been disappointed. Her resolve was strengthened.


She scampered into her bedroom and draped fresh linens on her nest. She removed all memory of the intruder she had allowed to know her. Anonymity was sacred to her. She opened a window at the end of the room and let in the cold night. It was always welcome and comforting.


She lay on her bed staring aimlessly past the ceiling. The rain sang for her and she adored it. She grabbed at her sheets tossing in ecstasy while memories carefully rocked her to sleep.

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