His was the guitar. He composed his first song at four, gave his first concert at eight, and by 10, was touring worldwide. He loved music, it was his...only friend. But his parents, two people that used his talent to their benefit, poisoned him. Whenever he had moments of doubt, they would berate him, telling him that Mozart was self-assure, he never second thought his own talents. They stole his childhood, robbed him from experiencing bruised elbows, scraped knees, fistfights, and catching. She looked very young and I wondered if Claire had pulled her off the street, or she was a lover of some other kind. I didn’t have long to wait as I could hear Claire’s voice bark a sharp order to the young girl. ‘Get your ass up in the air, bitch! You know what I want,’ she snapped. She slapped the young girl’s backside twice and both times the girl yelped. These weren’t love slaps, and the girl wasn’t faking pain. The outline of her hand was imprinted on the girl’s ass in white. Claire then. More

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