All I want in this life, of all the lives I feel I’ve lived, this is the one in the end of its existence I most want to have. To have a good time with one life I was given would be my greatest relief.
I was born, or better brought into a small town of great faith and little knowledge, heaved upon by the greatest fear of life and death. Drown by the faith and fed by the breath of god to remain alive, my town was unto itself a fish unaware it continued living within a bowl. I loved my little town, it was my own, the street which ran through the modest homes and ventured into well broken parks and green hills filled with the trees of spring through fall turned to red, orange and yellow. I was home in those long lost days; neighbors who knew your name and bought you cookies and apples fell by the dozen on the table; unlocked front doors and unbroken homes. In dreams I still feel I could have survived, but real pain filled those memories I have forgotten in slumber.
I was six years old when that life began to fall into the hell which brought whispers and cookies, cakes and casseroles. Daddy was gone when I woke up and the ladies of the church were praying for a mother broken of spirit. I was six and alone when my mother went into the hospital and came out less a woman of part to bring further life into this world, drained of maternal desires. My father though a constant relapsing alcoholic, wanted children more than life, he was a great father when he tried yet took from me a hope for the future when he left, it took three long years before I really realized he would never be coming back my mother had a hysterectomy and I was the child forgotten by a once perfect family.