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...m>

My room was trashed.Mommy was tearing it to pieces.

"THIS IS HIS ROOM!"

Mommy broke the window with my tea party chair.

I remember the story Lauren told me, how everything was perfect before Mom was sick, how they had a perfect family with Mom, a Dad, Lauren, and a baby on the way.

Then Mom lost the baby, then Mom got pregnant again and had me.
Then Dad left her. He couldn't bear to stay attached to little tiny me while Mom was a wreck.
Lauren says Mom refused to name me, so she did, at 6 years old. She'd been saving Patricia for someone really special, not just a doll or an imaginary friend.

She said Patricia was the most beautiful name in the world.

I light another cigarette and flounce on my allergenic bed. Another night of insomnia. I can only pretend that Max is in my bed tonight.
How I wish he was.

Shame

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Author Guidance for this Story

ireneintheworld The narrator of this story is almost invisible here, but he does exist somewhere and in a blocked creative life; he seems to spend his time people-watching so I think that would be a strong feature in his sections.

I thought the teenagers' story would be good for anyone who likes writing in that genre; and there is also room for the policeman's POV.

The old woman might be a good place to start for me, so maybe I'll slope off there in a minute, or soon, or eventually.

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