God, I'm bored....
Disclaimer: I don't own A Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger, or any characters from the franchise.
One, Two....
Sometimes...
I want my home again.
I want that little white picket fence.
I want my school and pink notebook.
I want the short talks with that nice man.
Sometimes...
I even want my sister back.
"PATRICIA!"
" Coming, mother."
"RIGHT NOW, GIRL!!"
" Yes, mother." Patricia called up the stairs, carting a tray of coffee, 2 poached eggs, and a handful of various pills. Patrica Tate was 27 years old. She lived with her mother in a tiny un-named town somewhere outside Denton, Ohio. She's a very well mannered woman; quiet, obedient, never speaks unless spoken to. She wasn't beautiful or outstanding. She didn't like spicy foods or listen to much music. She didn't drive fast (to the contrary, she didn't drive at all). Her clothes were plain, her eyes were a dull brown, and her grey-lightbrown hair was matted and sloppily pulled into a bun every morning. No one really liked Patricia. She blended in well with a crowd and knew how to easily disappear. It's what she's been doing most of her life, anyway. She also took care of her mother, Belinda Tate. Because of her failing health (due to smoking, drinking, and a warped mentality from traumatic happenings from earlier in their lives), Patricia is forced to remain at home and baby her. Because of guilt over Belinda's taking care of her in childhood, Patrica begrudgingly stays and tends to her mother's every whim.
Their past is not a happy one.
Patrica is often haunted by guilt and sorrow over the loss of--
"PATRICIA, WHERE ARE YOU?!!"
Patricia walked into her mother's room and was instantly hit with the thick scent of cigar smoke. She made her way to her mother's bedside and put the tray on her lap.
" Made me wait long enough..." her mother mumbled. From days in bed, she looked as if she had died. Dark circles, frizzy white-blonde dyed hair, the same dull brown eyes; Belinda wasn't a very pleasant woman to look at, let alone live with. Since their family had fallen apart, and Mr. Tate had passed away, Belinda took to the bottle and constantly passed her problems to her worthless daughter. That's what she called her. Patricia really didn't mean much to her. She was a festering whelp that she wouldn't--and couldn't-- get rid of. She'd been a pain in her side since the year they left Springwood...since her sister--
Belinda took another drag on her cigar. Within seconds, she was coughing and hacking. Patricia walked to the doorway, knowing enough to get out of range of her mother before saying anything.
" You're not supposed to inhale cigars, mother."
A plate from yesterday's dinner flew at her head, and she ducked. It smashed into the wall.
" Don't you talk back at me, you little bitch!! You have anything else to say?!"
She silently shook her head.
" GOOD. Now, go get my newspaper. NOW." Belinda popped pills into her mouth like candy. Patricia nodded and headed downstairs. The scent of the cigars lingered on her clothes and in her hair.
Oh God...
That smell. It was so distant...
She could remember when she was young. A beautiful two story house. She remembered that house. The warm memory of a house with someone that almost cared about her. What was the street...?
Patricia walked outside and scooped the newspaper off the porch. The children from the street over were playing in the neighbor's yard again. She felt herself smiling as she watched the Kenrdall's two boys and the McRathan girl run around the street. So innocent...The McRathen girl fell. She skidded her knee. She was crying. In minutes, her mother was by her side, consoling her, kissing her wounds, fawning, fawning...Patricia felt like crying. Mother didn't do that...someone did though.
There it is.
Elm Street. How could she forget? Yes. 1428 Elm Street.
~~~
"Mommy? Is anyone picking me up from school today?"
There was a loud sigh on the other end of the line.
"You stupid girl, No. It's your sister's big soccer game today, and your father and I can't miss it because of you. You're 4, almost 5 years old now. You can walk home. There's supper in the pantry; We'll be going out for pizza after. We might be home by 5:30." Click. She was used to Mother not saying goodbye.
Of course. How could she forget? Stephanie's big game was today. Heading down the sidewalk away from her school, she mentally kicked herself for calling Mother. Now she might be punished when they come home. She turned onto the next street. It was Febuary. The snow had melted early, leaving the bitter aftertaste of freezing winds. It was worse today, mostly because Stephanie hadn't given her warmer clothes to wear this year: A knee-length blue skirt, a quarterlength-sleeved burgandy shirt, a light gray colored sweater, and sockless black shoes. Mother had promised to take her shopping on saturday, but she didn't. Stephanie needed a new soccer uniform for the big game, so Mother couldn't have taken her AND her sister the same day. It's all right, though. Home isn't too far away.
She turned onto Elm Street.
" Hey look!! It's Cow-Patty!!" a shrill voice yelled behind her. A group of kids from her grade had followed her again today. She hunched her shoulders and pressed her pink binder to her chest. Travis Redland had called her "cow-patty" and stuck his wad of cherry Bubblelicious chewing gum to the ends of her pigtails three days ago. Mother was furious. Instead of just cutting off the gum, she cut off four inches of her hair. She walked faster, but she could hear the other kids getting closer, chanting, "Cow-Patty, Cow-Patty, Cow-Patty!!"
They were just so loud!
She ran, going as fast as she could, desperate to get to the end of the street. She could hear them catching up with her, laughing and screaming. She ran blindly down the sidewalk as tears welled in her eyes.
Almost there.
The houses blurred, and soon, she could hardly make out anything.
Almost there...
Four-year-old Patricia Tate hurdled forward onto the sidewalk and skidded her knees and hands on the paved walkway of a very large house. She had tripped on an un-even slab of cement. There was a hot pain in her legs and arms as she pushed herself up into a sitting postion. The other children gathered around her, and laughed at her fall. She watched as they kicked dirt at her, taunted her, and kicked her binder around in sport. They tossed it around and spilled her school work all over the grass and pavement. Satisfied, they left her there, shaking and hurt on the cold ground. Patricia started to gather her papers.
" OW!!"
A sharp pain in her hand caused her to drop her now bloodied binder. Wimpering, she stared at her bleeding palms and knees. She sat there, and watched half of her school work blow away in the wind. It was getting colder. She sat there. Alone. Mother hadn't come to pick her up. She and Father were at Stephanie's game. They didn't know she had been teased by the kids at school again. They didn't know she had fallen. They didn't know she was freezing, alone, and bleeding on the concrete. They didn't know. They didn't care. She knew it. Patricia had been used to this by now, but for some reason, she started crying. Maybe it was just because of the cuts on her hands. Maybe it was sheer embarrassment. Maybe it was because she knew no one cared. It wasn't anything so shocking, but it was true. No one cared about poor little Patricia Tate. Just Stephanie...
She was suddenly shadowed by someone behind her. Patricia turned and stared up at him.
" Do you need any help, sweetheart? Look like you had quite a spill there." he said, and extended his hand.
---------------------
Read and Review, please! What do you think of Patricia?
Disclaimer: I don't own A Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger, or any characters from the franchise.
One, Two....
Sometimes...
I want my home again.
I want that little white picket fence.
I want my school and pink notebook.
I want the short talks with that nice man.
Sometimes...
I even want my sister back.
"PATRICIA!"
" Coming, mother."
"RIGHT NOW, GIRL!!"
" Yes, mother." Patricia called up the stairs, carting a tray of coffee, 2 poached eggs, and a handful of various pills. Patrica Tate was 27 years old. She lived with her mother in a tiny un-named town somewhere outside Denton, Ohio. She's a very well mannered woman; quiet, obedient, never speaks unless spoken to. She wasn't beautiful or outstanding. She didn't like spicy foods or listen to much music. She didn't drive fast (to the contrary, she didn't drive at all). Her clothes were plain, her eyes were a dull brown, and her grey-lightbrown hair was matted and sloppily pulled into a bun every morning. No one really liked Patricia. She blended in well with a crowd and knew how to easily disappear. It's what she's been doing most of her life, anyway. She also took care of her mother, Belinda Tate. Because of her failing health (due to smoking, drinking, and a warped mentality from traumatic happenings from earlier in their lives), Patricia is forced to remain at home and baby her. Because of guilt over Belinda's taking care of her in childhood, Patrica begrudgingly stays and tends to her mother's every whim.
Their past is not a happy one.
Patrica is often haunted by guilt and sorrow over the loss of--
"PATRICIA, WHERE ARE YOU?!!"
Patricia walked into her mother's room and was instantly hit with the thick scent of cigar smoke. She made her way to her mother's bedside and put the tray on her lap.
" Made me wait long enough..." her mother mumbled. From days in bed, she looked as if she had died. Dark circles, frizzy white-blonde dyed hair, the same dull brown eyes; Belinda wasn't a very pleasant woman to look at, let alone live with. Since their family had fallen apart, and Mr. Tate had passed away, Belinda took to the bottle and constantly passed her problems to her worthless daughter. That's what she called her. Patricia really didn't mean much to her. She was a festering whelp that she wouldn't--and couldn't-- get rid of. She'd been a pain in her side since the year they left Springwood...since her sister--
Belinda took another drag on her cigar. Within seconds, she was coughing and hacking. Patricia walked to the doorway, knowing enough to get out of range of her mother before saying anything.
" You're not supposed to inhale cigars, mother."
A plate from yesterday's dinner flew at her head, and she ducked. It smashed into the wall.
" Don't you talk back at me, you little bitch!! You have anything else to say?!"
She silently shook her head.
" GOOD. Now, go get my newspaper. NOW." Belinda popped pills into her mouth like candy. Patricia nodded and headed downstairs. The scent of the cigars lingered on her clothes and in her hair.
Oh God...
That smell. It was so distant...
She could remember when she was young. A beautiful two story house. She remembered that house. The warm memory of a house with someone that almost cared about her. What was the street...?
Patricia walked outside and scooped the newspaper off the porch. The children from the street over were playing in the neighbor's yard again. She felt herself smiling as she watched the Kenrdall's two boys and the McRathan girl run around the street. So innocent...The McRathen girl fell. She skidded her knee. She was crying. In minutes, her mother was by her side, consoling her, kissing her wounds, fawning, fawning...Patricia felt like crying. Mother didn't do that...someone did though.
There it is.
Elm Street. How could she forget? Yes. 1428 Elm Street.
~~~
"Mommy? Is anyone picking me up from school today?"
There was a loud sigh on the other end of the line.
"You stupid girl, No. It's your sister's big soccer game today, and your father and I can't miss it because of you. You're 4, almost 5 years old now. You can walk home. There's supper in the pantry; We'll be going out for pizza after. We might be home by 5:30." Click. She was used to Mother not saying goodbye.
Of course. How could she forget? Stephanie's big game was today. Heading down the sidewalk away from her school, she mentally kicked herself for calling Mother. Now she might be punished when they come home. She turned onto the next street. It was Febuary. The snow had melted early, leaving the bitter aftertaste of freezing winds. It was worse today, mostly because Stephanie hadn't given her warmer clothes to wear this year: A knee-length blue skirt, a quarterlength-sleeved burgandy shirt, a light gray colored sweater, and sockless black shoes. Mother had promised to take her shopping on saturday, but she didn't. Stephanie needed a new soccer uniform for the big game, so Mother couldn't have taken her AND her sister the same day. It's all right, though. Home isn't too far away.
She turned onto Elm Street.
" Hey look!! It's Cow-Patty!!" a shrill voice yelled behind her. A group of kids from her grade had followed her again today. She hunched her shoulders and pressed her pink binder to her chest. Travis Redland had called her "cow-patty" and stuck his wad of cherry Bubblelicious chewing gum to the ends of her pigtails three days ago. Mother was furious. Instead of just cutting off the gum, she cut off four inches of her hair. She walked faster, but she could hear the other kids getting closer, chanting, "Cow-Patty, Cow-Patty, Cow-Patty!!"
They were just so loud!
She ran, going as fast as she could, desperate to get to the end of the street. She could hear them catching up with her, laughing and screaming. She ran blindly down the sidewalk as tears welled in her eyes.
Almost there.
The houses blurred, and soon, she could hardly make out anything.
Almost there...
Four-year-old Patricia Tate hurdled forward onto the sidewalk and skidded her knees and hands on the paved walkway of a very large house. She had tripped on an un-even slab of cement. There was a hot pain in her legs and arms as she pushed herself up into a sitting postion. The other children gathered around her, and laughed at her fall. She watched as they kicked dirt at her, taunted her, and kicked her binder around in sport. They tossed it around and spilled her school work all over the grass and pavement. Satisfied, they left her there, shaking and hurt on the cold ground. Patricia started to gather her papers.
" OW!!"
A sharp pain in her hand caused her to drop her now bloodied binder. Wimpering, she stared at her bleeding palms and knees. She sat there, and watched half of her school work blow away in the wind. It was getting colder. She sat there. Alone. Mother hadn't come to pick her up. She and Father were at Stephanie's game. They didn't know she had been teased by the kids at school again. They didn't know she had fallen. They didn't know she was freezing, alone, and bleeding on the concrete. They didn't know. They didn't care. She knew it. Patricia had been used to this by now, but for some reason, she started crying. Maybe it was just because of the cuts on her hands. Maybe it was sheer embarrassment. Maybe it was because she knew no one cared. It wasn't anything so shocking, but it was true. No one cared about poor little Patricia Tate. Just Stephanie...
She was suddenly shadowed by someone behind her. Patricia turned and stared up at him.
" Do you need any help, sweetheart? Look like you had quite a spill there." he said, and extended his hand.
---------------------
Read and Review, please! What do you think of Patricia?