Postcards from the Subconscious
that's what dreams are
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All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author--in this case, Rose. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
Hush little baby, don't say a word...momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird...

Hum it as you feed the kittens. Stroke the fur on one, Cinnamon, before rising, back stretching.

Some day, you'll be too old for this.

Not yet, though.

and if that mocking bird won't sing...momma's gonna buy you a diamond ring...

Remember images of blood and bathtubs. Nasty things. You'd see nastier later, but at the time, that was the worst.

Maggie wasn't strong enough for that. So you had to be.

and if that diamond ring turns brass...momma's gonna buy you a looking glass...

Unlike some of the hookers, you were never ashamed. Some of them couldn't look at themselves in the mirrors for weeks. You weren't proud, but it was a job. Turn a few tricks. Make some money. Practice stealing.

Get better.

Get much, much better.

Until one day you stop. For you. Because that's what you want to do. Others influence you, but it's your own decision.

You always did like that song. Now, it's almost like it should be taboo.

But the cats like music, and it's easy to hum.

And you never did let anyone else dictate what you should or shouldn't do.

Hush little baby, don't say a word...momma's gonna buy you a mocking bird...

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