Four.

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Four.

The dish lay broken on the floor.

'Good for nothing you are!' her mother bellowed.

Her father had said something similar but harsher: 'Good for nothing slut!' he had roared slamming the door shut.

Slut?

What was a slut?

She herself was a slut.

'You are a bitch! Why did I ever give birth to you?'

She felt empty, but then a heart wrenching pain erupted in her chest.

Eyes dry as the Sahara.

How was she supposed to deal with those sentences every time she made a mistake?

Stop putting an effort?

Become idol?

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