So. I have no inspiration for George or Alex, so here is an Izzie one. Sorry it took so long – I was trying to scrounge up something for George or Alex but nothing came, so I switched to Izzie. As I am an atheist, my descriptions of Izzie's religion in this are most likely wrong. I apologize in advance! This was kind of random, and I don't love it, although I do find the idea absolutely adorable. And now I'm rambling, and this is going to be longer than the thing itself. So, yes. Shutting up now.
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The scratchy cream-colored carpet itched Izzie's shins and the wooden frame of her bed dug into her legs, but Izzie didn't care. Her hands, the tiny, milky-white hands of a seven-year-old, were clasped together on top of her Barbie-adorned comforter. Izzie hated the materialistic views of Barbie, but it had been on sale at Wal-Mart and she couldn't complain.
A wisp of a sentence tumbled out of her mouth the same way her long blonde curls flowed down her back.
"Dear God, I wish you could make it so my mommy could come home to tuck me in. But she's working the graveyard shift at the Chehalis Diner, so she can't, and I have to do it myself. Daddy left the other day, too. Mommy says that the psychic thinks he'll be back, but I don't think so. My friend Shelby, her daddy left a few years ago and he hasn't come back. I know you have a lot of other things to worry about, but maybe you can make it so one day, Mommy and Daddy can both be there to kiss me goodnight. I'd like that. Love, Isobel Stevens."
Izzie scrambled up the bed and cocooned herself inside the gaudy hot pink comforter, screwing her brown eyes tight until no more tears fell and she was fast asleep.