FicWad

I really love the colour red.

Mommy always told me that red was the colour for anger, and love, and hunger, which was odd to me because it doesn't make any sense on how a colour could mean so many different things. When I asked my mother this she said; "People interpret it differently. When it is applied to different things it means different things." I didn't understand but I nodded anyway because that is what you do when you are pretending to understand.

I'm not very good at lying.

Mostly because I know what I'm saying is not the truth and because I know that, the words come out odd, and strange. I don't mean them to. In fact, if I could be a great liar I would be, because according to daddy, "The world is built on lies," and "All the best business men are liars" and other suchlike things, and I think that it could be a helpful skill.
Unfortunately I haven't really got any skills. I don't really mind. I would prefer to be talented at writing or playing an instrument like Mommy - She can play the piano and she is amazing. My Daddy can play instruments too, but he is at work a lot. He is amazing at his job.

So I get left home alone with my little baby brother.

His name is Michael but I don't like calling him Michael because they're is a naughty boy at our school called Michael, and my baby brother isn't naughty at all because he can't actually walk yet. I think he could be a little bit naughty after that.

So I call him Mikey even if my parents don't want me to because I know Mikey prefers that name. He gurgles when I say it to him and he grabs his feet, and sometimes my hand. He has very little hands so he can only grab a few fingers. Mommy says that he holds onto you longer if he loves you which is good because he holds onto me for ages every day.

We get left at home together a lot so I've been teaching him the only thing I'm good at, which is painting. He's very good. He uses his little tiny fingers and he puts them in the paints. Sometimes he'll try and paint me but I've taught him not to unless I say so, because sometimes I like to give him little cat whiskers. We always wanted a cat but Daddy is allergic.
I was sat on my bedroom floor because Mikey was having a nap when I heard a knock at the door. Naturally I didn't answer it because that is Mommy's job.

"Donna! Hello!" There was a high nasal voice and I disliked it instantly. Nasal voices remind me of my head teacher and I'm not allowed at school anymore because I kicked her.
"Linda, hello," My own mother responded. Apparently my mom's name is Donna. Huh.
"Come in, come in.. And - Is this our little Frankie back for a visit?" My ears perked up a little at this point because Frankie was an interesting name, and I had never heard it before in my house. Which meant someone new.

This was a little frightening because I don't like meeting new people; it's scary and they always look at me funny like I just kicked the baby when I didn't, I kicked my head teacher, or they say that they don't like me and I get upset, which happens a lot. I pushed my self underneath Mikey's cradle and curled into a ball so they wouldn't find me and I wouldn't have to meet anyone new.

Unfortunately a few minutes later they did find me, and my Mommy dragged me out from under the cradle and sat me down on the floor of the bedroom, whilst she tended to my wailing baby brother. Beside me was a little boy who I had never met with messy brown hair. He looked younger than me, and I think he was about four years old.

He had very wide eyes which were hazel and sparkly. They were staring at me and I didn't like it because I felt very uncomfortable being looked at. I prefer staying in my bedroom with Mikey because in here no one will look at me but Mikey and that's okay, because I love him.
However the little boy beside me was adamantly looking at me and he didn't look like it was going to stop. His small hand (not as tiny as Mikey's) was reaching towards me and it was getting closer and closer to my face. His fingertips were hovering in front of my nose and then he suddenly dabbed me, and that was when I started screaming.

The little boy removed his hand but he didn't cry when I continued to howl. I think that was what made me despise him because he seemed to have gotten the reaction he wanted. Mikey started crying again because he cried at everything and my mother had to carry us both outside and apologise to 'Linda' for causing a scene. She sat me down on our swingset and told me to stay whilst she put Mikey back inside.

I didn't stay.

I waddled over to the fishpond and I sat on the edge and looked at the fish. One of them was mine. He was white with little red, orange and black spots on him. I love him very much and his name is George. Mommy said that was a silly name for a fish but I thought it fitted him perfectly.

They let me back into the house and I resumed my position on the bedroom floor, sat with my legs out and my fingers touching my toes. Mikey was crawling around on the floor and this other boy called Frankie was just sat in the corner, gazing at me with those big eyes that I despised. At least he wasn't trying to touch me anymore.

He didn't even talk for the rest of his stay. He just looked at me.

I hate it when he looks at me.