Her eyes blazed with her demons. “Burn in hell you scrawny boor!”
I can’t remember a time I didn’t keep Aunt Rose from killing someone. Me first memory happened when I was still a moppet. Me mum left Aunt Rose home alone with me one cold winter morning.
I was tight about mum leaving her, but I had to get to school, or the nuns would clip me ears. It took me an hour to get to that bloody school every day. Trekked a half mile along unpaved roads, stumbling over pebbles and cursing me way into potholes. The nuns cared a fig’s fart. The old bitches smashed me hands with a ruler if I was even a few minutes late. Fuckin school.
Aunt Rose wrapped herself in a stained, beige quilt stinking of dog piss. Her High and Mighty Madness wore it as if it was the Queen’s robe and with the airs she put on you might think so.
She rifled through a kitchen drawer like hell’s three hounds were chasing her hind-end, mumbling and tossing scraps of paper, pens, and old butterscotch candies onto the floo…