THE DOLL

by Rhonda Parrish     

Mary left her morals on the dirty floor buried beneath her discarded clothing. They peeked out at her now and then while the stranger grunted above her and the springs of the hotel bed squeaked, but she looked away so she didn't have to acknowledge them. She saw her self-respect peer in from the hallway, battered and neglected, and felt pangs of guilt.
     Later, as she dressed and crammed the wad of bills from the dresser into her
purse, she felt her conscience tugging on her sleeve and shoved it backward into the wall. A fine shower of dust fell upon it, and the picture above rocked on its nail, threatening to fall. She spun around to face it and found it cowering, crying, with its face pressed against the faded flower wallpaper.
     Fuck!" she shouted, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind
her.   NEXT