“HELL HAS FINALLY FROZEN OVER,” Dan said, glaring at his mother who he hadn’t seen or heard from in at least a year. He sucked on his teeth, almost repulsed by the sight of her standing at his front door, unannounced and unwanted, wearing some gawdy coat with fluffy fur around the collar and a hat that came straight from Jackie O’s closet, always the fraud, trying to present some phony image of prestige. She looked like she had aged two-fold since the last time she so eloquently graced them with her presence, the copious amounts of concealer and blush unable to hide her rapidly-thinning, wrinkling skin. “You have no reason to be here,” Dan said. What he felt inside—what he really wanted to say—was that Margo had no reason to live. She was a scourge on this Earth.
Margo smirked, not necessarily disagreeing with her son’s statement. She found herself questioning her own existence quite a lot as of late, oftentimes not coming up with a single reason or purpose other than to continue forward because she didn’t know any other way. Giving up showed weakness and weakness was an unforgivable sin. “Well, Daniel—” she eyed her son, squinting slightly, thinking about what to say next. “I’ve missed you, too.”