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I'm excited about having a real Christmas in the City. Back at home, it was always Dad and me. Last Christmas it was me and Dad. He didn't go to work that night. But he said he had a horrible headache--he'd get them sometimes supposedly and hole himself in his room like someone was keeping him there too-- after gifts and presents I went to my room. Again. I didn't cry about it. I wished we were more like the family in the holiday specials. Those always have mothers though.
My mother died when I was a baby. I don't know what she was like. I know what she looks like though. There's a holograph picture of her in my room. And three in the hallway. And one on the mantle. Dad built the basement passage to her grave so that I could visit her there if I wanted to. When I was little, I got into the habit of talking to them. Like she could hear me. I guess that's because Dad acted as though she could all the time. Sometime I would catch him talking when there was no one there. Probably to her. He really loved her. Not a day would go by that he wouldn't talk about Mom in some way. "She'd be so proud of her" or "You look just like her" or "If Marni were here she'd..." all of the time.I wonder what she would do. Especially if she knew about Dad. Maybe she did. I stopped talking to her when I realized that she couldn't do anything even if she could see what was going on. She wasn't even there. It was just a picture. I kind of hated her. I thought that I inherited a blood disease from her, that was why I was so sick. I yelled at her now and then. I had no one else to yell at.
I kind of hate my father too. No, that's not entirely right. I hate what he did. I hate that he'd go out and repossess organs for the Largos. I hate that he thought he knew what was best for me by pretending to be a doctor. Was he ever a doctor? I'll never know. Most of all, I hate that I'll never know why he did what he kept me at home for seventeen years believing I might die. All I would get is excuses of why I can't go outside, why I can't be with the rest of the world.
Rotti Largo said that my father killed my mother. I don't know if that's true. I know my dad is a monster, but he loved Mom so much even though she's been gone my whole life. He loved me too.
[ooc; bbl bbs with backlogged tags.]
I'm excited about having a real Christmas in the City. Back at home, it was always Dad and me. Last Christmas it was me and Dad. He didn't go to work that night. But he said he had a horrible headache--he'd get them sometimes supposedly and hole himself in his room like someone was keeping him there too-- after gifts and presents I went to my room. Again. I didn't cry about it. I wished we were more like the family in the holiday specials. Those always have mothers though.
My mother died when I was a baby. I don't know what she was like. I know what she looks like though. There's a holograph picture of her in my room. And three in the hallway. And one on the mantle. Dad built the basement passage to her grave so that I could visit her there if I wanted to. When I was little, I got into the habit of talking to them. Like she could hear me. I guess that's because Dad acted as though she could all the time. Sometime I would catch him talking when there was no one there. Probably to her. He really loved her. Not a day would go by that he wouldn't talk about Mom in some way. "She'd be so proud of her" or "You look just like her" or "If Marni were here she'd..." all of the time.I wonder what she would do. Especially if she knew about Dad. Maybe she did. I stopped talking to her when I realized that she couldn't do anything even if she could see what was going on. She wasn't even there. It was just a picture. I kind of hated her. I thought that I inherited a blood disease from her, that was why I was so sick. I yelled at her now and then. I had no one else to yell at.
I kind of hate my father too. No, that's not entirely right. I hate what he did. I hate that he'd go out and repossess organs for the Largos. I hate that he thought he knew what was best for me by pretending to be a doctor. Was he ever a doctor? I'll never know. Most of all, I hate that I'll never know why he did what he kept me at home for seventeen years believing I might die. All I would get is excuses of why I can't go outside, why I can't be with the rest of the world.
Rotti Largo said that my father killed my mother. I don't know if that's true. I know my dad is a monster, but he loved Mom so much even though she's been gone my whole life. He loved me too.
[ooc; bbl bbs with backlogged tags.]