I wore bubblegum pink lipstick and a crop top to Uncle Jerry’s funeral.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” My sister asked, passing by me outside, lighter between my thumb and finger. Ivy crept up the concrete.
“Well, he molested me,” I said.
“No, he didn’t. Remember, you admitted to making that up for attention?” She shoved an ugly cardigan into my arms. “You were a troubled child. You thought everyone molested you.”
Her huge ass looked awful in her long, black skirt. I wanted to smear casserole all over her tits. “Well, maybe everyone did. Maybe Uncle Jerry was the first.”
My sister groaned. Put her head in her hands and rubbed it like her face was one big itch. “Aunt you-know-who asked me if it was your first night as a prostitute,” she covered her big mouth, laughing at whatever she was about to say next. “And there was a bit of mashed potato spilled on her shirt. Right on the nipple. It was the most hilarious thing, I have ever, seen in, my entire life.” She paused, blew air out from her nose like an angry ox. “And when are you going to pay me back?”
“Please,” I put my hand up to her face. “We mustn’t dissect our finances on this day of sacred mourning.”
And God, my mother was the most disrespectful one. She made it all about her. Snot running out of her wide nostrils. And her hair was all frizzy, even from the start. It wasn’t like the product wore off or anything. She just looked that bad. I wanted to hug her.
Death is a funny way of canning things.
Ellery Liverseed is a queer writer, artist and student. Their work has previously been published in Sink Hollow and is forthcoming in new words {press}. They work in a library and make up excuses to get lost in the shelves. They stay busy trying to keep their plants alive.
Modern Flash Fiction 