Brandon felt the sting on his arm and then swatted at the horsefly with a vicious slap. Had his mother been a horsefly, she would have bit him, just like that. Only harder. And he wouldn't have been able to slap her.

He kicked at a particularly large piece of the gravel that lined the driveway. This was the third time this week he'd had to trudge the whole length of the drive plus walk all the way home from school. This after walking all the way down the quarter-mile drive and to school while it was still almost dark in the morning. She used to care about what happened to him. Now she just turned him out at the beginning of the day, leaving him at the mercy of the killers and kidnappers that roamed the streets. So what if there wasn't a vehicle in sight and even the newest of expensive cars would not have been able to sneak up behind him on the old dirt road with its washboard ruts. Forget the fact that he hadn't seen a stranger since last summer when Angie Tillman's uncle visited from Kentucky. That didn't mean there weren't criminals out there waiting to snatch up neglected children whose mothers had stopped caring that they even existed. Boy would that teach her a thing or two!

"What is eating you, Pal?" The voice of his friend Tommy Nelson almost startled him. Brandon was so wrapped up in stewing that he'd forgotten he'd invited Tommy to come spend the afternoon with him. Brandon hadn't even asked if Tommy could come. He just did it. If his so-called mother was going to quit taking him to school so that she could sit home and pound away at that stupid typewriter on some stupid book she thought someone somewhere might just be bored enough to read someday, well he could have a friend over to keep him company while she ignored him.

"Nothin'. Whatcha wanna do when we get to the house?"

"Unless you turn the milk with your sour face, I'd love some milk and your mom's famous brownies."

Brandon's heart lifted just a bit because Tommy would probably feel just like he did about her now. "Fat chance," he told Tommy. "Best you can hope for is that she'll feed us macaroni and cheese from a package somewhere around seven, if she remembers. If you ask, 'is that all,' she'll tell us to be grateful we don't live in Afghanistan. Brownies are completely out of the question."

Tommy's entire face drooped in disappointment.

"Hey, are you comin' to my house 'cause you're my friend or 'cause you want to eat her brownies?"

"Prob'ly a little of both," Tommy replied. "Can you blame me?"

"No, but you can blame her. She gets us all used to bein' taken care of over these past nine years and then all of the sudden she doesn't want to do it anymore. She'd rather type than take me to school. Can you believe it? She doesn't even have the time to ride me up to the school and back. All of three minutes, I bet it takes. But no."

"Cheese, Man. Chill. If you don't there ain't nothin' worth goin' to your house for. I'll just head home now."

Brandon's mouth lifted in the corner and he sighed. Couldn't have Tommy skippin' out now. Then he wouldn't get to see his mother's surprise--or more-hoped-for dismay mixed with a touch of anger--when she saw Tommy there unexpected and unannounced. No permission. Served her right. She hadn't asked permission to start ignoring him either.

Prompt: Show a boy or a girl who is walking home from school and who is angry with his/her mother. You're not allowed to tell the emotion outright. Let it come through as you write the scene.

Written in workshop today:

Prompt: Write about a clown at a funeral.

I have waited for this moment for more years than I should be able to count. People will think I'm deranged, but I am in my right mind, and for once my mind is all that counts.

This person was evil. To me. Maybe he changed after he shredded my life and torched my soul. Maybe he grew to be a caring human being with a wife and family who will sit on the front pew, vacant-eyed and grieving, pierced to the heart. Maybe he didn't. It doesn't matter.

Today is my turn.

I rented the costume from Party Warehouse--white and baggy, tight at elastic wrists and ankles and at the waist and with elastic at the neckline also, littered with large red circles. The people were very helpful there, thinking I was doing a child's birthday party or the like. Then I borrowed a book on the make-up from the library. I have had only two days to practice putting it on, but I took off work for this ocassion and I have twelve sessions under my belt. I am a perfect clown. The only think I can't do is tie balloons into figures of animals. I should have learned. I could have made a sword or a rifle for this ocassion. Too bad I waited too long to think of that detail.

I've even practiced walking in these shoes. They are at least twice the size of my feet, and as bright a red as you can imagine.

Red is my theme. Red for blood. Red for anger. My nose is red. Most of the face paint is red. And the hair. My, the hair. No hat--that would tame it. It's a flaming ball of frizzy red. Not orange, no carrot top. Red, red, red.

No one will miss seeing me today. They still won't know exactly who I am, but I will not blend into the crowd this time, or just go away without "making a fuss."

I wish they rehearsed for funerals. I think I have the timing down, but I'm not sure. I did arrive in a black suit and I asked a young man to get me a program. Then I snuck back here in the janitorial closet and did my change routine. Good thing I knew this church like the back of my hand.

Ironic that I learned all the hidden places where we'd be undisturbed from the recently deceased hypocrite and liar.

Before this funeral is over, I will have had my say. He will not enter into his rest before I gain mine.

I am so beat that I think today's is going to be rather short.

First a WAHOO!! I sold an article to The Writer's Room on creating villains.

We had a long, long day. It was the graduation party that I wanted to be sure to make. I think my sister Janet whom I've grown to love as I have learned her language, was made to feel very special tonight and I am so very happy for her.

I am afraid my eyes are closing as I type. It's time to call it a day. Here's to Monday. Yikes! It's Monday already.....