A/N: Okay, I usually don't leave these things because I personally hate them. So, If I'm taking the time to write one, you should take the time to read it. Anyway, I should explain that the dialog is not mine. I sampled it from Tool's "No Quarter" on their Savial album, who actually sampled it from Led Zeppelin's "No Quarter." I'd also like to make know, I'm aware of the words I have typed here. I know that you, the reader, might not understand literally what the hell this short story is about. Everything I write is open to your own interpretation. The whole thing is meant to convey strong feelings deep within you. It's meant to provoke thought, and whatnot. I will relinquish to you the knowledge that, minus the dialog, this story is true. It happened to me. There, now you have a bit of background. Enjoy.

A mother watched her daughter close the door to the car that had just dropped her off in front of their house. She peered through the window safely hidden behind a mesh curtain. Her daughter turned from the vehicle as it drove off and hugged her self in the bitter cold of the night.

The mother turned robotic like to her dire son, who stood patiently next to her anticipating his next directions.

He was afterall, his mother's favorite child and it was his duty as the favorite to bow to the whim of his mother. He was not a shame or an embarassment to his mother like his drugged out sister. Though it seem he and his mother were the only ones who saw her for the pathetic waste she was.

"Lock the doors," She said in with a monotonous tone, "Kill the lights."

"No one's coming home tonight," she hissed.

Her son obeyed and he scurried away to complete his evil task. Her daughter climb the steps to the front door two at a time, keeping in motion to help lessen the cold. The mother watched with a wicked grin plastered on her painted face.

Her daughter reached the door and attempted to open it. It didn't budge and she stared at the door confused. Realizing it wasn't open she rang the bell repeatedly begging for entry. After several minutes of pleading from the doorbell there was silence. The mother returned to her spot concealed behind the fabric.

Her daughter sat on the edge of the porch in defeat. She buried her face in her hands and tears glistened in the poor moonlight. She knew that her mother was the culprit of the locked door. The mother nodded to her son, in approval. The innocent depravity had been banned from their home. She was satisfied. Such filth was not welcome in home. Even if she was the only one who saw her broken daughter as filth.

"It's getting colder," She heard her daughter whisper as she curled her knees to her chest, tears cascading down her frozen cheeks.

The mother nodded in agreement, "It's getting colder."