Under the Back Porch

As a kid I lived with neglectful parents at best. At worst dad would turn his screams and fists on me but I learned quickly how to dodge the worst of it. Mom wasn’t much help, she’d just smoke in the kitchen and bitch at him for staying out so late.

At the time we lived basically in the middle of nowhere, our nearest neighbors were a long walk away for a six year old and we had trees between us. No one to run to for help. But I was pretty small for a kid my age. I learned I could fit pretty much anywhere. The closet. Dryer. I think even once I tucked myself under my futon in such a way I could still get some air but no one could see me.

I was a master at hiding. But it wasn’t for a good reason.

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I suppose it all started with my mother, although it wasn’t entirely her fault. But I can truthfully say it started with her.

She wasn’t a good mother. Perhaps not the worst, she didn’t leave me to die on the side of the road or attempted to drown me in the bathtub, but she was not a good mother. My self esteem was shattered the moment I showed her a picture I drew of her while at kindergarten. She took one look at it and sneered.

‘You made me fat!’

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Training the New Act

June 16

It’s been two days since I went to the circus.

I have not left.

Finally managed to get my goddamn phone back from those three hooligans. Screen’s cracked in the corner but it’s still usable. I still don’t know how they got the drop on me.

I don’t have any signal but I know they still have my charger somewhere, and there’s an outlet in the corner of their trailer. If I can get even a bar I can call 911 and I’ll have a SWAT team here to save me. In case I die before help is found, my name is Evan Randall. I’m a doctor. The clowns kidnapped me, the act with the three teenagers, the juggler, the crying girl, and the acrobat. Show these bastards the full extent of the law.

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Ten to Twenty Five Years

I’m writing this in case something happens to me. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe this is all for nothing, and he’ll not come after me. But I’m not taking any chances.

During the seventies, my grandfather took part in the arrest of a man named Horace Bell. The guy was an actual monster. He was a charming guy apparently, with a nice jaw, great hair, and a voice that made  you believe he could be trusted. Spoiler alert: He wasn’t.

He kidnapped a teenage girl, kept her in a secret room in his house, and called her Vanessa and said they wouldn’t be parted any longer. I won’t go into the details as to what Horace did to her, but I’m pretty sure you can put the pieces together yourself. This girl suffered for three months before she managed to escape.

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Guess who’s going on a cruise in December? This bitch right here! 😀

Finally, all these years of entering contests and putting my name into prize draws has paid off! I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise guys. A whole two weeks out on the beautiful blue sea. Away from stupid work, away from all my responsibilities, and more importantly- away from freaking winter.

I’ll make a special tag for my cruise album so you all can keep up on it. Hearts!

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Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.

A flawless saying used against bullies to defend yourself from teasing… according to parents and teachers.

Her name was Bessie. Bessie moved here during fifth grade right before Christmas. By that time all of us had our groups set. Our own friends. We weren’t quite willing to move over to make room for someone new. Especially ‘Moo Cow Bessie’.

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When I was nineteen I went to Italy with a bunch of friends and nearly got my dumb ass killed. This is the closest I’ll probably get to giving a moral lesson in my lifetime. This was back in the early nineties, so it’s been a while, but I remember the important details.

How I pissed off these guys is a little fuzzy, I’ll admit. I was teetering on the edge of black out drunk, I think I mouthed off to this bad ass kinda guy, and he didn’t like my attitude.

So when I left the bar he followed me and knocked me out, judging by the goose egg I had blooming on the backside of my head when I woke up.

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Smoking Kills

Somebody kept smoking in our apartment building.

I find nothing more inconsiderate and rude than instead of going outside to have your damn cancer stick, you choose to remain in the hallways and puff out your nasty smoke that doesn’t just magically vanish after you leave. Oh no. It sticks around. It clings. I can’t tell you what to do, I’m not your mother, but for fuck’s sake, no one else wants to smell your damn cigarettes. Especially not me.

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Show Business

I used to be the star of a kid’s show called Lola’s Dollhouse back in the eighties. It was one of those that aired on a few local channels. I’d always wanted to be a movie star as a child, so when auditions were held, I begged my mom and dad until they caved. They made sure I knew there was next to no chance that I’d get the part. After all, dozens of little girls who had acting experience were already trying out for parts. The odds were not in my favor.

I proved them wrong when I scored the lead role of Lola. Lola was a curious little kid who had a big imagination with what went on with her dolls. Once her ‘parents’ left, her dolls would grow to full size as a full doll family and they’d go on magical adventures together. I know. Real ground breaking television right here.

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The Shittiest Haunted House

You know you’re in for a treat when you can already see the props peeling off the walls before you even get in.

Rick tried to push the foam sword back on the wall, only for it to flop back down the moment he let go. I snickered and elbowed him. “Leave it alone, you’re just making it worse,” I said.

“It looks… so sad though…” Rick nudged it before he huffed and crossed his arms. “This is so stupid.”

“Shut up, it’s either this or we’re stuck watching Nightmare Before Christmas on repeat with my little sister,” I said.

Susan blinked owlishly. “But I like Nightmare Before Christmas,” She said.

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