I don't remember what he looks like.

I am told that I carry much of him in myself, with my blonde hair that curls around my shoulders, foreign green eyes, and a smile that could never belong to my mother. These are all his traits. Everywhere I go I carry a piece of him inside of myself, in everything from my complexion to my complexities.

My DNA is 50% monsters in the closet.

I wonder if that's why I always have an urge to punch the mirror.


I barely remember his name.

I am told that when his mother asked my name, she cried. She cried as she was told that there would be no evidence of him there.

I wonder if my mother knew even then.


I don't remember the day he left.

I was too young to understand why this goodbye would be any different than the others.

I am told that my mild mannered brother, all toothy grins and silly jokes, curled his hands into two identical fists and growled, "I am more to her than he will ever be"

I wonder if he ever resented me for forcing him to become a man at 14 years old.


I remember a doll.

A soft rag doll with yellow yarn curls and dimples, nearly identical to my own.

I am told that he gave it to me.

I wonder if he noticed the resemblance.

I wonder if he ever noticed me at all.


I remember a phone call.

The way my mother's hands shook. and her words followed suit.

I was told that he wanted to see me, nearly ten years after he left.

I wanted to tell him that once you've ripped someone's still beating heart out of their chest and devoured it whole, it was bad table manners to ask for seconds.

I wonder if my rejection even bothered him.


I don't remember a father.

I don't think I ever had one.