being real - Ch.2 Coming BackChapter Two - Coming Back It was bigger, and Nana had also remodeled it. Entirely. Somewhere, according toNana, there were several different families enjoying the old tables and chairs.The cafe expanding was good because, with progress, a lot of little stores gotchewed up and spit out to make room for the progress. Bigger meant that wasn'tgoing to happen. Of course, few people could resist Nana's fudge-cake, and definetlyher cream-filled donuts. Nana made her own cream, and Mandy was the only otherperson who knew the secret to that. That, and a lot of other recipes. While Nana'sonly daughter had had the culinary skill of a skunk (if pepe le peu was anythingto go by), her granddaughter had been flipping pancakes since she was old enough tostand on a chair without tipping over. Even if Nana had tried to explain her secretsto Tiffany, she'd have accidentally gotten nailpolish or some such in the batter.Possibly even some nail clippings. Very appetizing.
Being Real - Ch.1 Coming Homebeing realChapter One - Coming Home hometown's never quite the same once you've been gone for seven years.Mandy had realized this, of course, but had still harbored some secrethopes, until they'd been slowly slashed to pieces during her firsthalf-hour after getting off the bus at the local greyhound. she should've realized it when she'd seen malls instead of the usualstretches of flatland-covered-in-grass, though that was easilydismissed as "we aren't that close yet". Even as she'd seen the stationcoming up too quickly, she'd insisted to herself that she had one moreto go, despite the large, familiar re-painted sign that said "Welcome toGavingston" which was somehow suspended from sky-hooks or some such, sinceit hovered over the roof of the bus-station. Now, standing in the light-but-consistant rain outside of an all toofamiliar house, she realized this place may look different, but the ghostshaunting her memories hadn't really changed. She'd last stood in this spot
cold - april 2001 - lorikittyjust as the rain stopsthe last drop fallsthe last piece breaksthe last dream wakesskidding downslowly coolingdripping off...the edgewish that were methat smallI feel that worthlessthough the significance is bolddoes pain take a form?what would it look like...the flat side of an iron?the inside of a soda can?perhaps it\'s something you smellthe choking dust, aimed to your face?the blood rushing through your noseor the stench of his green teeth?maybe it\'s just therethat little something that nagssays \"look at me!\" every chance it can