Dismissal could be called a friend. It wouldn’t be the first time. She wiped away the spit from her lips only to glaze them with a coarse tongue. It stood before her leering away as it would. Yet another thing she could resent.
It continued to spit in a flurry of obscenities and hollow truths. She swallowed every rasping sound it meticulously picked, a hand made gift. Each syllable cutting through bone and leaving impressions for wandering hands to touch. Vibrations to keep as pets without knowing how to care for the new life just handed to you.
She’d nurture them just as her dear mother did.