Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ONE A GOOD DAUGHTER.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
MICHELLE IS NOTHING SPECIAL. In fact, she's a bit of a bore. If she tells a joke, you've probably heard it before —or she might just be quoting an ABBA song, you never know which way it'll go . . . But in all seriousness, if she was asked to describe herself in one word, it would be boring. Her routine is constant, never ending. She wakes up and goes to school, she gets home from school and does her homework, she goes to bed. On repeat, every day. Michelle is a faulty record that never stops spinning. She can't remember a time when it wasn't that way.
Then there's her dad, who's only ever wanted his daughter to succeed, which apparently means that he has to invoke discipline on her in any and every way he can think of. (*Cough cough* like that one time he'd thrown out her prized Black Sabbath, Paranoid record after finding it hidden beneath her pillow.) Not that Michelle doesn't get it, Michelle gets it . Because it's just the two of them now, they only have each other these days and you tend to get protective over the little you have left when everything you've ever had has been taken away from you.
They have a mutual understanding of that.
Her father's misfortune reflects directly into her own life; Michelle doesn't trust, she doesn't want to trust people; hence why she has no friends. You can't rely on anyone, her father says. Kids are stupid these days, her father says. I'm so lucky to have a daughter like you, her father says, a good daughter. He says that sort of stuff so often she begins to believe it after a while . . . Although it's not that hard to believe that the kids these days are stupid. He makes crazy good Vietnamese food though, which is pretty cool, considering the only time she'd ever been over to a friends house for dinner they'd ate lamb chops and beans. How boring is that? She's never ever been left unsatisfied by his home cooked meals. Perhaps they'd joke about it down the line, maybe he'd loosen the rope a little as she got older? God, Michelle sure hoped . . .
Michelle glances up from the sticky note in between her fingers. It's neon green and a little crumpled, as she'd shoved it into the pocket of her jacket with no remorse. Yep, she gulps. 416 Richmond Ave, she's at the right place! It's an average house, she observes, casting a glance over the beat up old station wagon parked at the curb. Michelle decides its a bit too we're a happy American family in a happy American suburb! for her tastes. There's a dozen tables set up in the driveway, with plenty of weird items scattered across them as people mewl over the little that there is to offer. Seriously though, the stuff they're selling is weird. Michelle does a double take, because was that a pet rock she just saw ? ? The brunette can't help the grimace that pulls at her lips. She can hardly imagine ever selling her own personal property. Than again — she was kind of maybe a hoarder of useless items.
