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Short Story A tall, slender looking woman emerged on top of the stairway. She had a face as pale as milk with a scruffy mop of long curly ginger hair flowing down around it. She had a look of deep sadness on her face but still appeared to have a warm essence about her. Samantha ambled slowly down the dusty stairway humming to herself along the way. She was one of those men and women who was constantly stringing words together to make songs, this was her one escape in reality, well long walks along the quarry side on Thursday afternoons. She moved slowly and gracefully through the hallway and into the living room. "Samantha Jane Smith, you are late ! Well what do you have to say to yourself?" "I'm quite sorry Mrs Longhurst" "Is it" That was said quietly and almost in a gentle, caring way by Mrs Longhurst, "Well child could you not even come up with an adequate explanation?" Her voice turned to evil, pure evil. She cried so loudly that the pigeons were disturbed in Trafalgar. Tears formed in Samantha's eyes as she hung her head and tried desperately not to make eye contact with anyone inside the room. A sharp shout came from the far end of the dinning hall. "Oh look! What a surprise! Samantha has turned on the water works again! What a baby!" The whole room seemed to simultaneously start chanting - the many dreadful chanting you have ever heard. "Baby, baby, baby,.... ." Are there any end to this torture? The matter is that this wasn't only a one off occurrence. This chanting and psychological abuse went on every morning lunch time and evening and the only reason it didn't occur every minute of every day was that.