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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEHQnYzfip7ImA9WhBbFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6456403747293322581</id><updated>2013-05-14T16:37:13.886-07:00</updated><category term="Chapter 1" /><title>Unemployment by Shay</title><subtitle type="html">Who said Senior year would be daisies and daffodils? Seven friends stick it through. Boyfriends become betrayers, Enemies become nightmares and family members a wonder to ponder! Think being a Teen is that easy? Think again! The Adventures of these High School Girlies stream and soar from internal feuds, broken homes, attempt of rape, and call MTV folks because someone is getting pregnant!</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://booksbyshay.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://booksbyshay.blogspot.com/" /><author><name>Shay Apple</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="26" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ifNOljz-VLI/TjoSikduKDI/AAAAAAAAAAg/YIb3I0Dj6IU/s220/proofile.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/UnemploymentByShay" /><feedburner:info uri="unemploymentbyshay" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIHSX8_fyp7ImA9WhVVGUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6456403747293322581.post-1854121125468747414</id><published>2011-07-20T19:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2012-05-13T19:45:38.147-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2012-05-13T19:45:38.147-07:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Chapter 1" /><title>Chapter 1</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="border-bottom: solid #4F81BD 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-themecolor: accent1; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0cm 0cm 4.0pt 0cm;"&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoTitleCxSpFirst"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;Wednesday 30&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; June 2010&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoTitleCxSpLast"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-size: 14pt;"&gt;10:35am&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
Mother stood quietly behind Alicia Braithwaite as she typed away on Facebook. The continuous click-clacking of the keyboard followed by the ‘PLAXE’ of the spacebar and the occasional giggle of her Alicia’s voice. Her little baby-girl was so happy. Mother didn’t see her smile but she felt it. She knew how it looked. Alicia’s riders on either side of her upper canine teeth would ever so often show, and then she would make the unconscious attempt to hide it by covering her mouth with her hand.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UleqA9nnUu4/T6y7s6rV6uI/AAAAAAAAACA/IYc3vvqOwys/s1600/img2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UleqA9nnUu4/T6y7s6rV6uI/AAAAAAAAACA/IYc3vvqOwys/s1600/img2.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;“Should I tell her now?” mother’s thoughts kept popping up like bubbles in a fun fair. “Maybe I should wait for Boosho” the idea seemed promising and about to put it in action by turning around and retreating to the living room,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
“Hey mum, didn’t know you were in here. Wam to yuh?” her voice always had that hint of rudeness in it but Alicia wasn’t unmindful of it. It’s what her dim-witted husband allowed, she was so happy she was going to leave him, permanently. The only problem was how to tell Alicia? Alicia, in mother’s eyes was a mild-temper, pretty, little, chubby girl full of innocence and cuteness. She had thick black kinky hair; she was the only girl in her entire year group to not have chemical enhanced hair. Alicia was an Angel. Sadly, that was only in mother’s eyes. However, behind closed doors, Alicia was the reason for the party, the laugh behind the laughter, the evil behind the mischief. But she was a good girl and meant well. Misunderstood behind her silence during school, she was full of big dreams and she knew how to get there. But, her parents directed the show too much, particularly her father. “It was her life, not his, Boosho needs to seckle' he self” she’d often complained to her older sister, Amanda.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;Amanda understood where Alicia’s was coming from; she did endure the hovering over, which started her rebellion. She was glad she was married and had a life away from all father’s wanna be fatherhood acting. She knew the truth behind father, but Alicia didn’t.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
“I was going to talk to you about something” said mother, trying to conserve the sadness in her voice, she failed. Alicia heard it, and mother knew that she did. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JKyGTqxy6nw/T6y8aMT4-II/AAAAAAAAACI/UTjMzVYCe_Q/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JKyGTqxy6nw/T6y8aMT4-II/AAAAAAAAACI/UTjMzVYCe_Q/s400/images+(1).jpg" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Her neatly groomed eyebrows sharply pointed downwards “Mum?…” her voice lingered for a long 10 seconds then father entered the room. Boosho Braithwaite was 245 pounds of pure lazy no backside-ness. He was heavy- built and had a chocolate brown complexion. Back in the day, he was the kind of guy most women who fall head-over heels for and then have dirt blind their sense of sight, hearing and personality detection. And that’s what Cindy Rella Braithwaite fell for. Luckily, washing her face clean, she saw, heard and detected the idiot she had married for twenty three years. Nineteen years of either moving backwards or on the spot. She was going to move forward now. Leaving him behind and actually making something of her life. Not having to sell in the corner board shop in the heat of the day, and wonder when she would eat something befitting during the cold nights, while Boosho was somewhere swaggering his money imprudently on sex, alcohol and gambling. He would then try to ploy the greatest Christian saint act in church and father to Alicia. Why hadn’t she left before, earlier perhaps? The children never knew the truth behind it all, well Alicia at least. She was never to know. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
“Cindy yuh tell de gyal yet?” his tone was drawn out and drunken.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;
“Now Boosho, of all blasted time you choose to get drunk!” Mother’s voice was stern and motherly as if he was her child.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;“Woman I not yuh pick-a-ney, yuh doe-doe-do” he stuttered in forming the words pronounced and began to lose his balance as he drifted back and eyes rolled into the back of his head. Alicia had never seen her father looked so drunk before. Matter-of-fact, she never saw him drunk at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
He was always so, perfect and guiding and controlling. He seemed so non-sensual and empty-headed now. He was drunk. “Yuh know what I doe understand, it tekin’ yuh so fu-…“he cursed, Alicia’s mouth dropped open and her tongue rolled onto the floor like a red carpet. “…long to tell de damn gyal we divorce. I dunno why de hell yuh didn’t throw she way wen yuh geh pregnant inno. I cyah mine so much blasssted pickney”&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;
“How you so sure she’s even yours?” mother’s reply added a deeper and deafen silence to the room. Alicia heard that inward screech. Alicia said nothing. She turned around faced the computer. Everything was happening too fast. Everyone weren’t what they seem. Her life was almost a lie. Fake as it seems. She did do a lot of stupid things parents wouldn’t be too peachy about, but she was a teenager and it wasn’t reckless. Plus all teens go through that ‘stage’ of experimenting in their life. A little alcohol never kills, neither parties.&amp;nbsp; Punishment from the universe, usually would be getting pregnant or being grounded till 30 when you would be old. But listening to this. Hearing what could possibly be the truth, was cruel. The universe played a mean old card on Alicia in the game called life.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;
Her Facebook Status;&lt;i&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Suddenly life is ****&amp;nbsp;up&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;“&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/UnemploymentByShay/~4/5BTlEwzAosE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://booksbyshay.blogspot.com/feeds/1854121125468747414/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://booksbyshay.blogspot.com/2011/07/chapter-1-part-1.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6456403747293322581/posts/default/1854121125468747414?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6456403747293322581/posts/default/1854121125468747414?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/UnemploymentByShay/~3/5BTlEwzAosE/chapter-1-part-1.html" title="Chapter 1" /><author><name>Shay Apple</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="26" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ifNOljz-VLI/TjoSikduKDI/AAAAAAAAAAg/YIb3I0Dj6IU/s220/proofile.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UleqA9nnUu4/T6y7s6rV6uI/AAAAAAAAACA/IYc3vvqOwys/s72-c/img2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://booksbyshay.blogspot.com/2011/07/chapter-1-part-1.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>
