Bad Writer 3

"Leslie? That you?" Even at two in the morning, my mother wound be up, asking the same thing she always asks when I come home. Who else would it be? It's not as though a robber, a rapist or the neighbourhood criminal has a key to the little wooden house we rented in the heart of All Saints. I like to say we, even though most of my money went to my student loan, but whenever I can, I try to pitch in. Truth be told, I'm working for the education I didn't need to get the job.

"Yes, mommy, it's me," I close the door behind me, locking it before going to my room.

Stripping off my clothes, I throw on my favourite night shirt, shove the stuff off my bed and crawl in. I want to reach for my phone and try to crack the neighbour's wifi code and surf the net until sleep knocks me over the head and drags me into the darkness. Instead I stare at the ceiling, letting my mind race in all directions.

If someone was to ask where it all began, I would say it was this night. It's not that something momentous  happened that was the catalyst for a breakdown or unexpected change in character. It just dawns on me that my life, my entire existence, was not special.

Oh sure, I could say that every life is important, and all I had to do was think positive. I could look deep within and find my true purpose, and develop my life in that direction. The only problem with that is I think it's all bullshit.

Right now, right here, I am a non-person and next year, I'll be the same non-person just a year older. Outside of work, I belong to someone, I'm Ava's daughter, Mrs. Baker's granddaughter, Tiffany's cousin. All of this, my reward for being the good girl.

The girl who passed her test, never back chat, went to college and became an empty shell of a woman and I am tired of being this woman. What if the good girl became the bad woman? Would anyone notive? Would anyone care? And how far can I go before I'm stopped?


'Til next Sunday.
Click here to read the first installment.