“My mother died when I was six.” It is a lie, a fun new lie for me to play in. I watch their faces transform into sympathy and a thrill of excitement shoots up my spine.
“I would have lived with Daddy then, but he’s still in prison.” My father is a security officer, but this crowd does not need to know about my boring reality.
“What do you do for Holidays?” A boy my age asked.
I thought for a moment, but not too long. The point is to make it look like a memory. “Well, whatever I want.”
Written for Warmup Wednesday. Prompt: Include a Bad Habit