Little Bad Apple

She moved with the grace of an eighty-year old heifer, lumbering down the concrete alley without a destination in mind. Tiny specks of red trailed behind her as she held her ribs.

"Abigail, Abigail, dear girl where are you going?"

In the darkness he cried out but she ignored him. What was done was done.

"Abigail, Abigail, dear girl why do you ignore me?"

She wouldn't, couldn't, answer him her red lipstick smeared across delicate cheekbones. What was done was done!

"Abigail, Abigail... dear girl why did you shot me?"

What was done was done... Daddy never loved me.