Cinnamon (Shooting Stars 1)

"You're the one who's suffered! You had all the

pain and all the disappointment. Mommy."

"Okay, honey. Let's try not to talk about me

anymore. Let's concentrate on you for a while. I can't

wait to see you on that stage. Read some more," she

urged.

I softened my hard heart and did what she

asked. In fact, the play soon became my whole life. I

rushed through my homework at night and then went

upstairs to the magic attic room to read and recite

aloud. It just felt better to do it in that room, our room

for stories and dreams. I soon memorized the whole

play, everyone's part as well as my own. I could

deliver my lines and then Dell's, actually assuming

his position and lowering my voice to sound like him. It felt so good. I was safe, wrapped in the

cocoon of the imaginary world, the characters, the

time and the place. I was no longer here in a house

where sad tears streaked the walls, where dark

shadows brushed away our smiles, where old voices

full of disappointments and trouble echoed in the

silences that hung in every corner during the hours

when darkness draped over us and the moon fell

victim to night's long thick clouds.

The play was the thing, my everything, my new

world. It filled the void that had been dug and created

the day I spied on Daddy and saw him kiss that

strange woman on the lips. I had someplace to go to

avoid him, something else to think about and fill my

head, shoving out the anger and the disappointment

that followed the memory of that dreadful moment. It