Half Dead

Dear boy smoking a cigarette staring at me:
Stop staring at me. Stop smoking that cigarette. You're too young, I believe, to engage in such habits.

Or, perhaps you're of legal age to smoke cigarettes? Preposterous! You see, you look as if you're my own age.

Along with that, kids my age don't say or use the word preposterous. So, how old are you really? Teenage age I assume, from what I can tell.

But, you have a baby face, a black tattoo on your upper arm that I cannot make out under your t-shirt with some logo on it. It says Die, Die My Darling! with a woman's features with a skull face. What does it mean? Is it a proposition for such a girl like me? Doubt it, because no one has ever called me darling, except for my dad.

Speaking of which, Boy-Who-Won't-Stop-Staring-And-Smoking, my father should be here any second. Please excuse the interruption of your fascination of my face, I should be going. Maybe we could meet up at a later time?

Oh no, you're coming over. Why?! I don't want you too! Oh, geez, don't sit--

Next to me.

You smell like an ashtray, Mr. Staring Boy. You stare, I feel your black eyes on me. Are your eyes black? I wouldn't know, I won't return your glance. I won't return the knowledge that I know you at all, because I don't and I don't want to know you.

"Hey." You say.

Don't talk to me.

You wait and wait for a response, but I ignore you. A minute, an awkward minute passes before my dad's SUV pulls up and I jet off. Goodbye weird baby faced boy who stares at me and smokes cigarettes.

I get to my father's car and slip in; he looks over at me, "Who is that, Violet?"

I can't answer, so why does he ask? I don't answer as he drives away.

"Was he bothering you? You'd tell me right?"

Why, of course I would, daddy. A boy harassing the little ol' mute girl, what could be more damaging? What could you do if I did break my vow of silence and said that, that boy who stared and smoked a cigarette had harassed me?

Lord knows, we don't. I won't break my vow. I won't ever speak again.

"Are you hungry?" Dad, you're trying extra hard.

I don't answer. Dad, you know I won't answer.

"Mom's making your favorite." He grins. Why?

I don't have a favorite, I shout telepathically at him, no favorite anything.

"How was school?"

Oh, you know, the usual; didn't talk, catholic sluts made fun of the mute girl. Didn't eat lunch, I ate some tic-tacs though. Calorie free.

"You look starved." 

Daddy, don't hum a laugh, because it's true. I've been hungry since I was pushed from your wife's womb. I've been starving since I had no age. Back when I was a little sperm in your family jewels. Hungry, hungry, hippo; that's what Violet Graber is, hungry.