Slubberdegullion

Chapter 9

*DIALOGUE IN BOLD IS IN ASL*

I'm dressed in all black, matching the darkness that surrounds the graveyard. I walk up to the familiar gravestone, bourbon bottle in hand. I stare down at the plaque for a moment the simple words 'Angelika Peters' staring back at me, matching my stone-cold gaze.

I pull my mask down.

"Mother...looking good." I comment, almost enjoying the situation.

I crouch down and hold out the bottle. "This is the last one. The final half-finished bottle of the woman who beat me. The woman who didn't care for me. The woman, so many people, tell me to forgive."

I glance up at my surroundings for a moment. The night time a great blanket of comfort. "The woman, I'll never forgive. My mother."

I place the bottle down for a moment. I have more to say.

"I hope you like the last of your alcohol. You always seemed to like it. Even more than your own daughter."

I clean off a smudge on my black boots. "I hope you know, I couldn't be better. Everything's better, after you died. And I won't hide it."

I take in a deep breath. "Mothers are supposed to love their daughters. Whether or not you loved me, I don't know. I never will. But I can clearly say, that I don't love you. I may have when I was your personal punching bag, but I've grown."

I reach for the bottle, twirling it in my hands. "I won't hesitate to say this- I'm glad you're dead."

I bring the bottle up a little more, then slam it down on the edge of the gravestone, breaking the neck of the bottle, and spilling a little liquid. I stand from my crouched position.

———Maria's POV———

I stand a few meters away, watching as Myra pours the liquor onto the grave. I don't know whose grave that is, or why today was so special that she visit it.

I take a few steps forward and stop. I don't know if she wants to be alone, or if she needs comfort. Maybe both, but she came here alone. Yet, the pull that I feel to comfort her, seems to trump the concern to stay hidden.

I take a few more steps forward, then pick up pace slightly. I keep a steady gait as I walk up behind her. A few feet from her, I stop.

"I can finally move on from your alcoholic ass." Her voice is dark, like when she's working.

But even in that sentence, I could hear the emotion. I've never heard her talk like that, dark yet full of emotions. It's either dark, monotone, or sarcasm from her. She actually feels things, whether or not she wants to. And her voice just confirmed that for me.