Uncategorized work. Not sure where it'll go.

     I’m not entirely positive if it started with the night that I couldn’t find words, or if it was months before that. To be honest, I’m not entirely positive of anything right now. . . Not since it happened.

     I guess I’ll just go through the timeline to mention things here and there, mostly because there’s a lot to explain.

     I’d been best friends with a girl named Elizabeth since the two of us were in kindergarten ― that made eight years and counting. We’d always been there for each other through thick and thin; there were times when she was all I had. Elizabeth was being raised with her grandma, who wasn’t exactly thrilled that we were friends. To this day, I’m still not sure why.

     I lived in a little trailer park in the small town of Coal Valley ― yup, pretty cliché. My biological father, or “sperm donor,” as we liked to call him, wasn’t in the picture. Hence, I resided with my mom and our one or two cats (depending on where you’re looking in the timeline). Mom worked at X-Pac, a company that processes, imports, and exports John Deere products. She made about 10 dollars an hour, which sounds like an okay job, but not compared to the $350-amout lot rent that had to be paid every month, along with electricity and cable bills. We lived the common single-mom kind of life, so we weren’t exactly the richest household in town, but things were okay. Of course we had our struggles (both physically and emotionally, due to Mom’s worries about finances on top of the problems with her back), but we were happy overall.

     At least for a few years, anyway.

     I’d wanted a pet since I was around the age of three. Growing up, I always begged and pleaded for my mom to get a hamster or something, whatever would be easy to manage. Finally, when I was eight years old, I was pleasantly surprised with a cat for my birthday. She was a black American Shorthair-breed named Princess. Princess had been previously owned by Mom’s best friend’s sister, who didn’t want a cat anymore.

     I loved that cat. Every day since then, I would wake up and get ready for school, go to school, come home to do my homework, then be attached to that cat. On weekends, I’d wake up and eat breakfast, then play with Princess. It took her some time, but she eventually became loyal to me. So loyal, in fact, that she would follow me wherever I went in the house ― to the kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, etc. ― and sleep at my feet at night.

     After some time, the obsession with my beloved pet wore down a bit, and I began spending more time with my mom and friends again.

     Some-odd years passed. I was starting to grow up, and with that growing up came awareness of the world around me. At the age of ten, I’d reached that tender age where things that you see, hear, and experience can really mold who you are and who you’ll become ― both on the inside and out.

The End

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