Author's note: Numerous people pointed out to me that I forgot to post this. Thank you for letting me know. I tried to keep track of which chapters I needed to post, but I messed up. Sorry for the confusion, and I hope this helps to make chapter 6 flow better.

Chapter 5: Sleepover

The deep pain flared like shrapnel from an old battle, hard and sharp and deadly. The hot words straight from padre’s mouth — “I have no daughter!” And the cold ones, a year later, by his hand. “It is my specific desire and intent to disinherit . . . .”

Orla inserted her scuffed bronze-colored key into the lock, turned it, and opened the door. With its peeling light blue paint, it fortunately did nothing to betray the apartment's relative opulence.
It hadn't been like this when her and her grandmother, Kahri, first moved in. No, at that time, the place had been the dictionary definition of what the locals might call a "shithole," a term as unfamiliar to them as it was second nature to their new neighbors.

This story arose from a dream, it has no ending

The sound of shattering glass echoed through the alley, freezing the boy in his tracks. His heart hammered against his ribs as he pressed himself against the cold brick wall, barely daring to breathe. He shouldn’t have followed the man in the black coat. He should have stayed home, right where his mother had told him to. But curiosity had always been his weakness. And now, he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee.

From the San Gabriels to the Mexican Border, Southern California is people. Anglos and Chicanos, Asians, Blacks, Slavs, Armenians – heaps of Armenians! – you name it. They come from everywhere, and they bring their languages, their foods, their feuds and their passions with them. It’s wild and dynamic and scary, and I love it.

It’s home.

Epilogue

“Hello Alison.”

What was it with plump women and oversized glasses? She looked even more like a baby owl than ever, albeit a very large one.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“Carrie Leach.”

“Oh fuck!”

“Relax. I’m only here to talk.”

“Yeah, that’s all you did last time and see where that got us.”

“I guess.”

“How come you don’t look like, you know, her?”

“Girl, if you go shooting all the cochinos, we’ll run outta dudes.”

Commission for anonymous

Sequel to:

https://www.deviantart.com/smokeysis/art/CMSN-The-Stepford-W...

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I shook my head angrily, dispelling the memory that clung and reeked like Dace’s pinche weed. Through my still-clenched teeth I said, “I’m not seventeen anymore, and you are fucking with the wrong goddam woman!”