"Fuck!" Robert suddenly stiffened, conscious of the word that slithered through his chapped lips. He hastily placed his sweaty palm against his mouth as twelve innocently inquisitive eyes stared at him.

"What does 'fuck' mean?" Anna started, as she limped closer to him. Robert groaned in annoyance, he should have never taken this job.

" Its a..." he stopped for a minute to contemplate, "..a Mexican vegetable. Taste's fantastic, but its only for adults."

"I wanna see a 'Fuck',"

"No! no Ron, don't say that word, okay. If you say it more than five times, the boogie man will definitely get you,"

The children were silent for a moment to long, remembering their old nemesis, the boogie man. Robert stood satisfied with his little alibi until-

"Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck"Ron muttered triumphantly. I survived! he thought.

"That's four times stupid!" Anna snapped.

Robert suppressed the urge to gag, he would undeniably lose his job today. Sadly he'd lose it at a time when jobs were as scarce as hen's teeth. When had they learned to say stupid? Why were they so curious? Those questions wouldn't matter because the door suddenly opened and Robert felt his heart explode with fear.

"Mom!" Anna yelled, " Guess what? I l learn't about a Mexican vegetable named-"

"Lolita," Robert suddenly intruded.

This would be a long day.

She glared severely at the fractured lines of her mirror. She watched as the crimson oozed out of her lower lip.

Skin black and bruised, limbs numb.

Pretence camouflaged her reality, wounds concealed under thick scarf's in summer. Words burnished with poignant deception.

“REMBE!” She flinched at the sound of her mispronounced name. “Rumbi”, she had stated earlier, dragging every syllable. His boisterous, obnoxious voice climbed up the narrow stair way.

Panic- stricken hands rushed to lock the door. She grabbed the splintered baseball bat her cousin left earlier.

Bang! Bang!

Because it wasn't her fault a man grabbed her bag as she strolled to the bank, stealing her ATM card.

Bang! Bang!

Because it wasn't her fault that an impaired, grouchy police officer confused her with another Hispanic anarchist down the crowded street.

Bang! Bang!

That Ashley had to pay for bail.

Bang!

And the rent was due.

Dad needed more pills.

Mother needed a Visa to visit.

Cousin wanted a brand new bat.

Silence

All she wanted was a life with a bow laced with tranquillity but all she heard was

BANG! BANG! BANG!!

 Hate

Repetition made words like hate lose significance.

When freshly painted, you gape at the pallid walls anxious to taint them but as you stroll past the same wall day by day, they become just like the other walls.

Similar, ordinary, standard.

So now you can say cheesecake and hate in the same sentence.

And use the word like at the beginning of a sentence.