"Oi," was all that could be said after reading such a ridiculous letter. The paper deserved to be crumbled and thrown in a pocket. A piece of paper shouldn't be wasted on such a useless note. After a few minutes it was decided that the paper would be burned, the letter that went something like this: We would love to see you again. We don't know why you left. Your Grandfather will be dead soon. There is no need to hate him because he does not like a half-breed. I still love you. Doesn't that matter? I didn't have a fourth child so that he could have a child that won't respect their forefathers. Now listen. I have made you a room in the guestroom. When your father gets tired of you, you will sleep in the attic space. That way Grandfather won't harass you. Won't that be fun? I will call back in a few days. See you soon. "Grandma, the next time I see you, I will be dead and rotten and have committed the worst crime in the history of history," she muttered, smashed up the paper in her right fist, and turned to go inside. Tori was sitting on the couch drinking beer when a foot stepped into the kitchen. He turned and saw his child enter. "Where have you been, boy?" "Outside, getting mail. And I'm not a boy." "Well there sure ain't no girls in dis family." "Besides mothers?" "Shut yer trap. Watru doin?" "Makin food." "Why? We got pizza." "I see that." "Whatever. Gimmea slice." "No." A bottle smashed in front of Mitch's face. A piece of bottle cut her cheek. She moved away and walked towards the hallway. "Don't throw things in my house." Mitch closed the door to her room, which was not a room at all, it was the attic, and finished her Lime Cider before throwing the cup out the window and lying down on the bed uncovered. She rolled over, belched, and told Jerrie, her monkey, to go eat celery. And all seemed well until she fell asleep.