4 June 2012
I walk down the deserted alleyway. As my gentle footsteps resonate around me, I begin to wonder what my mum would say to my newfound occupation. She wouldn't be best pleased, I can say that without a shadow of doubt! I can just imagine: "Chrys! Why the FUCK are you doing this horrendous work?! I raised you better than this! You disappoint me, and have done since you were 4! I wanted a girl you know! You were an accident anyway!"
That's her usual rant whenever I've fucked up. Or when I haven't, for that matter. Ah well, who cares what she thinks? She's always been a temperamental old bitch. I mean, she went berserk when I got one of my ears pierced.
"YOU LOOK LIKE A FUCKING PIRATE YOU MORONIC PRICK!" she said.
What a lovely mother I have. Well, where I'm concerned she can just fuck off. I pretty much raised myself anyway. Cans and tins from the cupboard, lettuce from ASDA, a bit of bread from wherever I could find any. That was most meals. My brother wasn't strong enough. He didn't manage to make it to the age where he could fend for himself. I dug his grave last week, but that's enough about the past. I wiped a tear from my cheek. I refocused.
It's a good job I did, because I was just about to walk into a lamppost. Well, that would have blown my cover.
"Psst, why did the chicken cross the road?" The whisper came from behind a wheelie bin.
"Alicya! What in FUCK's name are you doing here?!" My voice didn't quite reach a whisper, oops.
Chrys (Alley) • Opuss № I