11.24

Doris ran her hand through hair still crunchy with hairspray from a morning that felt like days ago. She couldn't communicate the deep tired she felt, two fingers pinched against the bridge of her nose, skin wrinkled and aging as her body ached from lack of sleep. She looked into her sister's eyes and thought cold and friendless thoughts. Why here? Why now? Though, arguably, there is no proper place to suffer a breakdown. She looked at the Malibu, then at Miranda, then at the Malibu. She felt like running her hand through her hair again, but it wouldn't do any good. 

"Cheer up, Doris!" Miranda quipped in that asinine perk of hers. "It could be worse!"

Doris hadn't thought that could be true just thirty seconds ago, but Miranda had to open her obnoxious mouth. Now she knew that things could always be worse. 

"If you speak again, I shall be forced to end you," Doris said, her bones growing colder in the weight of her conviction. 

"D'awwwww," crooned her addled sister. "You really do love me. You never threaten me unless you're in a particularly fine mood." Miranda thrust herself upon Doris, wrapping her arms around Doris's neck, a heavy weight of unwanted affection. Doris, unexcited about this new development, made efforts to get away and then abruptly stopped, her manner not unlike that of a cat that has been pinned in a lap for petting. Doris's eyes gleamed murder. Her fists clenched and unclenched. She would never admit she was having a fine adventure.