Mormon

There were excatly 253 lines on that face. I'd been staring for what seemed like hours at the old lady who lived across the street. She was one of those ladies that seem to watch your every move with the small beady types eyes embedded in her skull. She looked at me straight through my pupils and deep into my soul. Like she could see every want, desire and thought. I was scared so I went inside.

My white pinafore was covered in dirt and dust from playing outside with Simone and James. My shoes were extremely scuffed and I could see a small hole forming above my big toe. If mother could see me now. I opened the latted wooded door into the kitchen. A fire was burning and above it a small black cauldron filled with chicken broth no doubt. Its what we had every night. The only thing we could eat to survive. Although my mother didn't survive it. I remove my cotton cap - also a nice muddy grey colour, and place it on the wooded table in front of the fire. I now had to wait for my fathers return. No matter how long it would be. I'd wait. He'd be gone for hours and once he'd return his breath stunk of the strongest spirits and shout. Shout at me for it being my fault that mother was dead. My fault that I'm alive and she's not. But I'd just sit there. My eyes would flicker everytime his voice got a little louder. Sometimes I'd just take what he does. After all it didn't last very long. But it'd start again the next day.