Myra lifted each fold of fat carefully, each fold of daddy's fat.
Lifted and held up with her tiny hand, the tiny hand which scavenged for
Half-eaten burgers to feed him earlier, used her dead sisters shiny pink
Toothbrush to work at the gunky sweat beneath the folds, she thought three times today that her dead sister would be disappointed that she'd used her shiny pink toothbrush, which sat on the cistern before her dead sister became dead and her daddy stayed In the armchair after they left her in the ground. Her tiny hand cleaned beneath the fat until the fat became clean.
Myra leaves the telly on for Daddy to watch Bergerac. A repeat, he does enjoy those repeats, thinks Myra. She eats the last of her dead sister's spaghetti hoops, her eyes are stuck on the ripped packet of the shiny pink toothbrush on the carpet where she left it to scrub Daddy's fat. Daddy has a mouth open too much today. Myra's little hand, with two fingers under the chin, pushes it shut.
Myra has a nasty feeling in her stomach, the cuts Daddy made on her knees smile pleasantly and Myra's sorrow comes up from her stomach, bits of dead sister all over the smiles.
Daddy has a sort of church. There are other members, in countries abroad. Myra is at the sink. She can't get the stains of the bits of her dead sister off her blouse. She feels dizzy watching the chewed pieces of dead sister go down the plughole with a twist.
Myra has the wet blouse gripped with her hand which is stained by pieces of dead sister. She has it gripped by her hand and lashes Daddy ONCE TWICE THREE complete times.
The door out the front is making noise. Daddy doesn't have the remote, where is the remote panics Myra. THE DOOR KEEPS MAKING noise. Myra's foot steps into a sticky puddle at Daddy's shoes.
Myra sees bright light carved like a door and looks to Daddy for an explanation…But Myra just sees ROT.