It was easier in those power ranger, transformer years. Days were about the school lessons he loved, games at recess, a birthday party. Tears came with knee scrapes and the one day he and his best friend fought over who would be Optimus Prime. A momentary cuddle would cure him, the wrong quickly forgotten by morning.

They called her Betsy – a white Chevy that took them from school to jobs to grocery shops when it was too cold to walk. In the summer, she’d be the car they crammed into; 6 siblings, 2 parents and a dog. 

Waiting for the night bus, Molly notices a girl searching the street for another pair of paying eyes or that car that slows down for her legs alone. It reminds Molly of that night in a club, her barely out of school, when a guy led her to the toilets. 

Rebecca counted the toes over and over just like her Daddy told her to. 10 fingers and 10 toes meant he was OK. And OK meant he could come home soon. Yet still, every morning since the day they took her Mommy into the hospital, Rebecca played by herself in the playroom.

It was three in the afternoon when they drove past. They wouldn”t have seen it at all if she hadn”t needed to roll down her window for her fifth cigarette. Five in one hour wasn”t a personal best, but it was getting close. One hour. It was almost that long since they passed the last gas station. If Carrie knew it was the last one, she would”ve forced Kevin to pull over. She didn”t, so she dreamed of peeing instead and tried to block thoughts of waterfalls as she tugged quick puffs from her cigarette. That is until she spotted the perfect spot.

6 months I’m supposed to be in here. Six months is nothing right. So I’m planning to sit here, tidy-like, neat in my cell, do my time, and what’s here? This fucking face. This face that’s there just staring at me.

It was easy to make. A quick flick of black, the spray smooth and even. The red an afterthought to bleed into what she’d already done. Chuck had given her the stencil so it was only a matter of finding a space.