Author's Note: Okay here's the second chapter. Sorry, no dialog yet. I'm still introducing characters. Hopefully, in the next chapter that is, there will be some talking.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Robin.

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I lived with my mom in beneath that creaky old staircase.

Huh, like you could call that woman a mom.

She cared about my existence as much as she cared about Harry Houdini's.

A.k.a. she didn't care.

Not a squat.

Actually, she probably cared more about Houdini than me.

Not that I even care. Like I really care about...well, whatever she did. See,if I really cared I would know what she did. Hey, I don't even have a clue if she had a job. I mean, a real job. That's how little I cared about my mom, how little I knew about my mom, how...

...little she told me.

Well, I do know that she immigrated to the U.S. from Korea when she was fifteen---and she did it illegally. Then she ended up in a dumpy part of a dumpy town and, unfortunately for me, got herself pregnant a year later. Yep, she had me while she was sixteen and she didn't even try to raise me. What she should've done was given me to social services, or put in a basket on a front porch of some rich looking old couple's house or something---but, for goodness sake, don't have a kid when your a teenager living in an alley, homeless, penniless, foodless, citizenshipless, and your just gonna ignore the kid. Just don't do that. It's not fair. I five year old can figure that out.

Especially if the five year old is that kid.

Anyway, she had long thick black hair, almond shaped brown eyes. She was slender, her tan was nice, and she was pretty short, too. Kinda like me, but maybe a little shorter. Honestly, she could have been pretty. That is, if she smiled every once in a while. I used to imagine her smile. It looked nice in my mind--- sweet, cheerful, sincere. But that's enough dreaming, because she never smiled. Never.

At least not at me.

My mom wasn't all bad, though. I mean I really liked the way she moved. She never walked; she glided in smooth, flowing strokes that made her look like a fairy. And when she picked something up, her arms went swoosh swoosh, like a ballerina. Yeah, that's what she looked like, a ballerina. I also liked her voice, at least the handful of times I heard it. It was rich and smooth, with a small raspy texture overlapping it slightly. But she only used that nice voice of hers on me when she had something that she wanted me to do, or she needed me to move, or something totally selfish like that.

Or when she said, "Hello, Richard, did the sun shine on you today?"

I liked it when she said that.

It's not like she hated me. At least, I don't think she did. In fact, I don't think she could have lasted long without me, but that's probably the only reason she didn't throw me out of her 'house'. Cause she needed me, not because she cared or even liked me. I guess she wasn't abusive or mean, or anything like that. She just never wanted to hang or be around or just talk to me like mothers are supposed to. To her I was just some kid she had no choice but to look at or feed every once in a desperate while.

Actually, yeah, it sounds like she hated me.

I remember when I was really little. I would sit by the door and bawl my eyes out until she came home---or I fell asleep,whichever

came first. Sometimes as I waited I would draw her millions of pictures, using some tissue paper as my canvas, and, if I was still awake when she finally got home, I would give them to her and proudly tell her exactly what they were. Then later, I would find them all in the trash can with Tuesday's spoiled noodles and some empty cigarette boxes.

Now isn't that a nice place to keep a your three year old son's pictures!

Man, I must've been a stupid---no, a really stupid kid to ever care for that selfish excuse of a mother. I should've known better then that the first time she forgot my birthday or my lunch or my name. I should've figured it out the first time she didn't show up til 3:00a.m. or ignored me when I needed her help. Why didn't I just give up on trying to love her the first time she said "Dick, will you just shut up! Can't you see I'm too busy for you?!" or "Get this in that brain of yours, Dick. You were a mistake! A MISTAKE!" or "Richard, you are such a pain! Why don't you just run away or something?!". I should have listened to her and just left. Why did I care that she 'needed' me? And why did it take me so long to figure out that she didn't care about me? Never did, never will.

Well, I guess when doesn't really matter, though, because I did figure it out. And when I did I decided that I didn't care if she didn't. I mean, what should I care that that woman didn't care about me and hated me and regretted my existence and was never there for me and didn't take care of me and didn't love me a bit. What should I care? I mean, she's just...just...

My mother.

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Was that good enough? Please tell me in the form of the reveiw. I have cookies!!! (Just kidding, but, really, REVEIW!)