Road_690
Legacy Name: Road_690

I can' believe it been ten years already. Seems only yess'day that ship crash off the shore, then all the Islanders go out in lifeboats to look for survivors and only bring back a few people. The rest just wash ashore.

She thought of Road as she had been then, a tiny Montre huddled in that giant lifeboat, being rowed in by strangers, with a large stain down her dress and smelling of urine.

Dat poor child, no one wanted 'er, I couldn't jus' let her wander the streets and become one of those hardened folks with no compassion for anybody.

Mama Gris rubbed the back of her neck, and then rose unsteadily to her feet and continued up the steep incline.

I tried my best with her, sure, but I ain't her momma. Maybe if I had been, she'd turned out different.

The grizzled telenine had now reached the top of the incline and the dilapidated shack with it's customary shattered bottles strewn over the doorstep. Mama Gris sighed, pushed open the door that barely remained on it's hinges. She stared in dismay at the littering of empty bottles, playing cards and gambling dice that were scattered about the floor. In the corner sprawled a figure, half-asleep, a Montre still partially undressed though it was near noon, wearing a red thong and a tight blue corset. She was covered in alcohol and grease, hair matted, with bags under her eyes.

"Road, child, what you done to yourself?" snapped Mama Gris, harsher then she'd intended. But where was the money she'd lent to the girl to clean herself, and the house, up with? The house had been built by her husband, long dead, for the child they'd never had. And now it was seedier than a pub at Port Plunder.

"Where's that money I lent you?" She continued, louder. "You didn' even fix that door like I asked ya!" She kicked a beer bottle contemptuously, and it spun into a wall and shattered.

"Stop yellin' ma!" Road slurred. "An' stop kickin' my stuff. I gotta friend who's comin' to look at the door, I told you that already." "Aye, I'm sure he'll do a right cheap job, so you could spend th' extra money on booze!" Angry, and sad, Mama Gris dropped the package, and the birthday cake splattered over the floor.

"If you don' have the respect for me to take of yourself and this house, then you ain't worth my time." She started out back down the path, angrily willing arthritic joints to move.

"Wait, Ma! Wait!" Road came out, blinking and cussing under her breath, as she got an eyeful of the noonday Island sun. She walked, slightly unsteady, to where Mama Gris was waiting, and kissed the old telenine on the cheek.

"I'm sorry, Ma." Road apologized quietly. "I'll do better next time."