Beginnings

She lived in a black house. 

It was a small town, not well-known. But for those of us who know, we know it well. She carried herself with ease, because she had nothing to fear. 

A friend of mine once said that footprints would appear on her ceiling in the middle of the night. Visible. Muddy even. But how? 

It was said that when she walked into the room, the attention went to her. She drained those she loved of energy and ability to love her in return. She was a cold focal point of every conversation she was in. And her mom? Her mom taught her everything. She was rarely in attendance as her daughter grew. Her mom, it was said, committed a scandalous crime in causing a firing of grand proportions in this small town. People thought she was dead for a full 24 hours. But she was right there when it came time to collect the insurance money. Oh you bet your ass she was. Ready and willing to take payment so she could continue on with her self-promoting way of life that excluded her children almost entirely. And she was jealous of them. Wanted the youth that they had. And this made her bitter toward them until her last breath.

But still the girl in the black house went on. She attended school, barely. She went to parties, like it was her religion. She flirted endlessly with boys that were afraid to turn her down. And that is just the beginning.