Alone.

I've been there. I've been alone. I feel that I'm always alone.

This filthy city did this. New York is such a jungle. It's a dog eat dog world, and unfortunately for me, I'm a little dog that's had my growth impeded by the jungle of concrete, metal, and pollution. It's drained me. Left me bitter, alone, and with deep mental scars that I no longer try to hide.

I'm young. Still in the spring of my youth, but not to far from summer, at sixteen. I'm probably to young to be alone, you might think. Well I'm not alone... Not in the physical sense, at least. I have my mom.

My mother, Angie Sanders, works for an escort agency near our home called Mel's Corner. High class dumb full of big underground names, pervs, and drunks. Mom's pretty popular with this tiara act she does. When I was younger, I can remember riding home from the bar with her sometimes, and she would have some random guy with her. She'd get me inside, tuck me, and tell me she loved me after humming me to sleep. Then she'd leave to fuck in the bedroom while I was sleeping or half-way asleep.

But she's not a bad mom. She does what she does because its what she's good at and what puts food on the table, even if dad sends her a huge amount of cash once a year. Mom puts a lot of it aside for me and college. The other was still used for me on Christmas, my birthday, other holidays, and clothes. It was all for me. She raised me, cleaned me, feed me, the works. She's a good mom.

She's a truthful mom. She taught me about sex when I was seven, because I'd asked what it was. I look back at it now and laugh. My mom has no boundaries with what she teaches me or what I ask her. She just tells without blinking an eye. She also has a fun sense of humor. She's laid back and just goes with the flow of life. The good and the bad.

Although many people call her a whore and criticize her for not giving me up, saying I didn't need to be exposed to her filthy work, I still stand up for her. Just as she would stand up for me if she had to when it comes to the occasional, perverted, asshole clients she would get. I now know how to break a man's hand from her... Which she told me once, that she learned from watching my father do it.

My father. What can I say about a man who I can only remember meeting once in my life. And the memories are not even that clear. Just random and kind of fuzzy. One being of me sitting on the floor. I'm about three, and someone knocks on the door. Mom answers, and Its him.

His face is fuzzy, but I remember a slight smile. I remember him playing with me on the floor and a song as he's rocking me deep into sleep. The images of that day are fuzzy but his voice is a bit more clear.

I was an accident. Mom never told me, but I knew I was. Dad and her hadn't been careful, and the end result was me. Mom never hated me, though. She loved the life she and hum had created and cherished me. My father she's a bit upset with. She says he was a kind, funny, laid back, and sarcastic man when she meet him. And one hell of a lover in bed. But with how I am now, how she tells me I'm just a bit like him, she wishes he could have played a bigger part in my life. Wishes that I knew him. Knew more than a fuzzy memory.

But I don't mind. My life is how it is and I neither hate it or despise it.

"Robin! Robin Sanders, come inside, dammit! It's getting dark and the news says it's gonna rain and I don't want you sick!" I smile as I look up from my spot on the the cracked sidewalk three houses from ours. I see my mother waving me over to come back in the house. Her long, strawberry blonde, hair waves in the wind, as her sea foam green eyes seem to sparkle from afar.

Pushing myself up, I call back to her, "Alright, mama! I'm coming." With that I walk at my own, slow, pace. Alone. No I'm not alone physically. I have my mom to be content with. No... I'm alone... Because no one who really gets me. I'm a loner. A thinker. I'm... Different.

So... I'm alone.

I own nothing. Human Target belongs to its respectful owners. Robin and Angie belong to me.

Please R & R if you like.