these titles suck-I apologize.
Not that the text actually shows up anyways-at least on my computer.
Iris never brushed her hair and so it formed a large mat at the back of her head. Loose, stringy strands hung in front of her face, but the rest had managed to tangle itself in the back. It drove her mom crazy because it only added to the feral child look she seemed to be going for. Jeans that hadn't been washed as long as Ann was doing laundry and an XXL t-shirt with the sleeves cut off completed the look. Ann picked up Iris' mat of hair and let it fall.
"You look like I picked you up off of highway 41."
"Mom!"
"You do. Grab the boxes and meet me inside."
They were on the other side of town, the older side, the side that used to be the wealthy side. Now the houses were being bought up by slum lords and the grand old Victorians were falling apart. Ann's mother had died the week before, a gruesome death. She had spared Iris the details because of her attachment to her Marjorie.
Marjorie had been stabbed several times in the breast before receiving a gun shot to the head. The police had caught the two junkies with her television and her car near the lake. They were still maintaining their innocence.
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