This is like, totally nuts. I mean, who ever thought Auntie P would ever get kicked out of her house? I mean, you’d think people would cut her a little slack since Uncle P died. That’s so scary!  What if WE got kicked out of OUR house? Where would we go? Damn, I hope we wouldn’t have to go to Grandma’s house. It’s so frickin’ boring there.  And she always makes us eat that spaghetti with no taste. Gross. What Italian grandma doesn’t know how to make a proper spaghetti? Mom is a way better cook. Speaking of Mom,  I hope she paid the rent. She’s always saying how if she’s late to work, that she might get fired and if she gets fired, then she’ll have no money, and if we don’t have money then we can’t pay rent. Shit, that would suck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to cuss. I try to keep it clean, but sometimes I can’t help it. You understand, right? Maybe I should ask Mom about it tonight at dinner. Without the cussing.  Maybe we can have Auntie P stay with us for a little while, since her sons are apparently all dicks and couldn’t help her pay her rent.  Sorry about the d-word. We don’t really have room for her, but she could sleep on the couch.  Not sure where all of her stuff would go though.  I guess having six boys in the house – well, seven including Mr. P, you save up a lot of crap. Maybe she could put it in storage. That one time she let us into Pete, Jr.’s room, there was so much shit in there, I couldn’t even see the windows. Fuck, I did it again. Shit. Arrrgh!  Maybe I should stop for today , it’s getting really bad — if Mom heard me, I’d be sucking on a bar of Dove right about now. I think I have some kind of syndrome.

Your ever faithful friend,

A. Chiaccherone

I’ll write some more tomorrow, because today my mouth is terrible. I have to try to be better about that. The police and the sleazy guy kicking Auntie P out are knocking on her door now. A couple of our neighbors are in back of them, yelling at them too. I hope she doesn’t answer. If she doesn’t answer, they can’t kick her out!  God, that’s a brilliant plan. Crap, she just opened the door.

“Let the old lady stay!” one of my neighbors yelled.

“Yeah!!!  Don’t you have a heart? She just lost her husband, ” screamed another.

“Nothin’ to see here, nothin’ to see here, go about your business,” said the taller policeman, shooing us away.

Maybe if the neighborhood was doing better, we’d all have some business to go about, but right now, sitting on this stoop and minding somebody else’s business is all most of us got.

 

***Prompt: The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, have come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.

Write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street. Today’s twist: For those of you who want an extra challenge, think about more than simply writing in first-person point of view — build this twelve-year-old as a character. Reveal at least one personality quirk, for example, either through spoken dialogue or inner monologue.