Maggie Cambri was depressed from the previous events inside her home. There she was, sitting in a rocking chair like an old woman in her 90’s. She was staring blankly through the thin air with grim images running over the other, her head chilled by the emptiness inside her soul making her growling stomach a bitter-sweet melody reminding her of being alive.
She just signed the divorce paper so her husband could go to that gorgeous receptionist downstairs who walked with her breasts and talks with her legs, her son was in jail for smoking weed, and her baby, mere 5 months, just pooped on the carpet. What could it do? It was still a baby. But there was something dark lurking on Maggie’s mind as she looked down on the soiled carpet. It was the color of the ground when her mother was buried for good. She was young, so young to notice that his father was rejoicing her death, just like her husband with the blonde if she and her baby died, with their son rotting in prison. Upon thinking of such morbidity, she was convinced to take actions of such images she kept seeing in her head. She stood up and dragged the baby from the carpet and threw it out of the window. From tht night on, she never heard it cry.
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