I've been alone my entire life, there's never been anyone that's really cared. People look at me and instantly see that somethings off, a hollowness that puts their nerves on edge. They do not see a broken bird that can be heeled but just a broken individual that cannot be rescued or fixed. It's no big deal but alone is the only place that feels comfortable. Some people would consider it sad but a truly broken individual has no other recourse.

I grew up in a group home just outside Clearmount North Carolina. Its wasn't a huge orphanage, there were less then twenty children. One of the few government places that wasn't overcrowded. Let's face it if you'd ever been to this fine establishment, it would be the only saving grace. The den mother (hitler in a dress) was a cruel woman and a bit of a harpy. She hated children and me especially. It would take a further five years and an attempt on my life to learn the whole truth. For the time being I just assumed that I was lacking in some basic way.

At eighteen I was turned out with three hundred dollars to my name and not a friend in the world. I rented a crappy apartment in a even crappier part of town. The only job I could get was waitressing at a dinner that was most frequented by big hairy truckers. What can I say not every one can quite live it up like me.

So here I am twenty years old and going fast nowhere. That morning was like any other, Ray my skeavey manager made his usual lewd comments. Lila one of the other waitresses gave me the stink eye , yes in some circles a greasy halitosis ridden runt of a man is quite the catch. But today everything would change, one way or another.

The diner began to fill and I approached my first client of the day, " Hello, welcome to Rays Diner, what can I get you?"

"Well my name is Tom Hagen and I would like to discuss your father Clay Morrow."

review and I'll bake you a virtual cake.