Chapter One:

The kitchen was dimly lit. Dirty dishes were heaped in the sink and on the counter, filling the room with a musty, rotten smell. Huge piles of dirty clothing sat by the washing machine, waiting to be washed. Overflowing garbage bags were strewn across the spacey kitchen, adding to the reeking environment.

Father stood in front of the stove, stirring what appeared to be supper. His red and grey sweater hung loosely over his frail figure, and the bottoms of his black slacks were tucked inside a pair of filthy black work-boots. His brown leather fedora was pushed down over his head in a fashion that hid his eyes beneath the wide brim.

A small girl near the age of six stood in the doorway, with her hands in the pockets of her stained white summer dress. She, too, was very skinny. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in loose pigtails.

"Hungry?" Father asked in his low, gravelly voice. He loosely held a pot full of Macaroni and Cheese, steaming and small child nodded, reaching up and grabbing a bowl off the dusty cupboard. He dumped a huge glob of it in her bowl. "Should be clean," he growled, referring to the pot. "I let the dogs lick it..."

The little girl stared down at the only meal she'd have that day. She felt her stomach give a little heave, and let the bowl drop to the floor. The cheesy noodles spilled from the bowl onto the dirty kitchen floor. She held her stomach, trying not to think about her favorite meal gone horribly wrong.

"What's the matter….you bein' picky?" Father demanded, his stone-cold eyes piercing hers. She dropped her eyes to the grimy floor.

"Answer me, Bitch!" he ordered, slapping her across the face. She stiffened, trying to control the tears.

"No, Daddy! I just had a bad grip on the bowl! That's all!" she cried.

She bent down and began to push the noodles back into the bowl with her tiny, shaking hands, then stood on the tips of her toes and pushed the bowl back onto the she did so, she felt the familiar presence of her Father standing close behind her.

Ignoring him, she reached and reached, but couldn't quite turn the faucet on to wash her hands. As she reached yet again, she felt her Father run his fingers through her hair.

"Daddy, can you help me?" she asked, turning to look up at him. He had a distant look in his eyes, as he combed her hair with his fingers.