§ twenty-six §

40 10 1
                                    

When she got home,

she was instantly greeted by a squeal.

"Faye! You're back!"

the 8 year old exclaimed,

jumping into her arms.

"Hey, Junie. I got you some food,"

she said, handing over

the paper bag in hand to her.

She couldn't eat it.

She can't.

"What, no food for me?

Did you really forget

about your own mother?"

She looked at the woman

sitting on their couch, with

a bottle of poison in hand.

"Helen. I didn't think you'd

be home so early."

"How many times have I told you,

I am your mother;

call me Mom."

[ She doesn't deserve to be called Mom. ]

She looked over

to the little girl at the table eating

and felt guilty

for not being able to afford

to have her go to school.

[ All because of our lame excuse of a mother. ]

"Where'd you get the food?"

"My... friend

bought it for me."

She didn't even know if

he wanted to be friends.

She cackled.

"You? Friends?"

She laughed louder,

the sound  echoing

     echoing

                           echoing

in her head.

"You can't have friends.

You're just a loser,

like me."

She shook her head,

and ran away,

because it's all she was good at.

Running away

from the fact that

she would be like her,

alone and sad.

You were just a phase.

He was just a phase.

High school was just a phase.

Then it'll all be

                                     g o n e .

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