Rotting Daisy by Rasmenia Massoud

The way my sister Daisy is sitting on the couch makes me want to smack her. Shoulders slumped, head hanging to one side; she looks like a pile of wet leaves rotting into the ground.

"I'm going to the store," I say. "You need anything?"

"I'm going to kill myself today," Daisy says.

"You said that last week. You're still alive, so you're either full of shit, or just plain lazy."

My sister, she’s always been a whiner. She gawks at me with these sad, watery, basset hound eyes. She looks down at the bag slung over my shoulder and the keys in my hand, ready to go.

"You're making that face again," she says, turning back to the TV.

"What face?"

"You know. That face. Your wrinkled nose face where the right side of your mouth pulls down. Those lines are becoming permanent, I hope you know."

"Look, do you want anything from the store, or not?"

“That face you’re making, it’s contempt,” she says.

“Yeah, and that sound you’re making, it’s whining.”

"I told you I'm depressed and you don't even care."

"No," I say. "You stated your plans for the afternoon and I have other things to do. Sorry."

"You're being sarcastic again. You're mocking me."

"Daisy, I wish you'd stop with the melodrama."

"This isn't a cry for help thing. This isn’t a plea for attention thing. This is a real thing. I'm going to kill myself this afternoon."

She looks up at me again. Her bottom lip starts to quiver and she bites it.

"What is it now?" I ask. "Is it because your boyfriend dumped you, or were the ladies at work mean to you again today?"

"They're snobs," Daisy whimpers, looking down at her hands. "Now you hate me, too."

I’m making a conscious effort not to roll my eyes. "I don't hate you. I let you stay here with me, don't I?"

"Well, you're disgusted with me. I can see it on your face. I can hear it in your voice."

I’m exhausted from having this conversation again, so I plop down on the couch.

"I'm disgusted with the squishy place where your spine should be," I tell her.

She looks over at me, but says nothing.

"They were my parents, too, Daisy. Cars crash. People die. You've got to move on."

My sister, she points the remote at the TV and turns it off. "I suppose I can wait until tomorrow to kill myself."

"There you go," I say, standing up.

"But, you know," Daisy says bitterly," I find it sad, this frostbitten place where your feelings used to be."

I can’t think of anything to say, so I sit down again. I pick up the remote and turn the TV back on. The feeling I’m having, it’s anger. But mostly, it’s just defeat. I think of the way I must look, sitting here on the couch next to this sniveling sad sack. I think about that for a long time, and I kind of want to smack myself.