The Ballad Of Diane Dandridge

Chapter One

The day had been particularly gloomy. Now I don't know about you, but when a day is particularly grey and gloomy for me, I tend to remember. Diane Dandridge would never forget the events of that day, but even worse was the night that followed it.

Her younger brother Raymond who was often referred to as "Red" because it seemed to be the color of his entire person, had moved everything into her apartment. Hours ago he and his band of rowdy baseball playing friends had been there causing the place to buzz with conversation and bright smiling laughter. If Diane were to speak, her words likely would have bounced off of the walls, hit her in the face, and landed in her lap.

Red had taken out of his allowance money to buy her a wall clock, A house warming gift even though it barely coordinated with her living room and she hated analog clocks because they were too much work and not accurate to the second. It was around 2:41am. Diane knew she should be sleeping and she wanted to, but she had never slept in a house by herself; it was dark aside from the lamp she'd turned on, she was sleeping out on the couch rather than in her bedroom, and a wave of paranoia chilled her spine. She had to work at seven in the morning. Tomorrow she would meet a new boss at a new job she'd have to learn to do. "Oh lord, am I famous yet?" she let the words flow out of her mouth into the apartment. It was awkward and lonely and if anyone had answered she hadn't noticed. She would take that as a no.

"Just because you're gone." She sang out. at least she could laugh at herself. Here she was a single tear rolling down her cheek, singing like a dying cat, too scared to sleep in her own bed. She was supposed to be grown up but she felt like the most vulnerable and afraid child.

"Just because you're gone I burned a cigarette, I didn't have the nerve to inhale, just because you left I burned a cigarette, just because I know you hate the smell"Another tear, the scene just got more and more pathetic, maybe she would talk about this in her autobiography. "now i'll sit here and imagine what you'd think of me and convince myself that I don't really care oh i'll sit her and imagine what you'd think of me and console myself because I shouldn't care."

Maybe she sang until she fell asleep, the same few lines over and over because she'd never finished writing the song.