The psychiatrist sat in the chair smiling cannily, with a blank notepad in her hand, as her client sat politely on the sofa.

Oh my! No no NO! This is all wrong! Quite horrible infact, exclaimed the psychiatrist in a shocked fashion, though her canny smile still remained, unchanged, plastered to her face. Her voice sounded quite sweet and airy. Almost quiet and flute-like, or perhaps like the wind blowing through a pinched empty wooden hollow.

Only a bit alarmed and very much confused, the client asked, Wha? What's wrong?

No no no! I'm the one asking questions here. And the problem is plain, you see. You, dear client, must be lying on your back. It is quite wrong to be sitting up, looking at me so perked and attentive. No no, lie on you're back please, the psychiatrist answered, a bit annoyed at the client already, but her canny smile was still there, as permanent as ever. She fluttered her eyelashes a few times, almost sweetly.

Feeling a bit indignant, but not at all angry, the client answered, Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. I can assure you, I didn't know. But however, I do feel more comfortable sitting here as I am. Can't I sit?

No you cannot! Lie down on your back. Now, please.

The client, feeling a bit more indignant, calmly complied. Now that she was lying on her back, the client felt quite unnerved vulnerable, but she could not let the psychiatrist know this, so she folded her hands onto her stomach and looked quite peaceable indeed. The client remembered that the psychiatrist had said that she was the one to be asking the questions, but curiosity got the better of the client and she asked, Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't really know why I am here. Would you tell me?

The psychiatrist wrote down a few words on her note pad, looked at the client and said, So, miss, I can see that you don't know why you are here, and that you would like me to tell you. Is this true?

The client, turned her head towards the psychiatrist, vexed at the repetition of her question, said, Yes, ma'am... and I should like an answer. (The smile was still plastered to the psychiatrist's face.

Oh, I'm sorry, could you repeat that?

Yes ma'am,... and I should like an answer.

One more time please?

Yes ma'am and I should like an answer.

Yes what?

An answer!

My my! No need to get angry now! It is obvious to me that you are emotionally unstable.

What? Why?

Excuse me, I'm the one asking the questions here. Now where were we? Repeat your statement one last time. I need you to pronounce your words slowly and clearly.

The client sighed, but once again, compliantly obeyed. Yes ma'am,... and I should like an answer.

To what?... I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.

Have you not listened to a word I've said?

Yes! I have! Except that your plain hair and plain brown eyes were distracting me. It is a pity you look so much different from you mother... anyway, I am here to listen to you! So now, just speak freely and let it allllll out! The psychiatrist's smile suddenly refreshed itself.

Feeling frustrated, the client thought about why the psychiatrist had clearly not heard her. Perhaps she was mumbling. No, she had spoken loudly and clearly, each time. Perhaps the psychiatrist was in need of a hearing aid... no, she clearly heard the words, they simply didn't pass through to her brain. The client once more decided it must be her look. She did have plain hair and plain brown eyes. And she did know that her mother was a rich supermodel; skinny as a rail, flashy died black hair, sparkling eyes that really didn't glow in the dark, and makeup caked on her face at all times. She knew that because her mother was clearly rich and beautiful that she had immediate credibility and of course she could do no wrong! She knew that when her mother claimed that her daughter killed her brother, even though her brother was standing in the room, that it was only natural for the and other women of 40 something who had children as well to nod their heads in total and complete agreement with her mother. But that incident is beyond the point for now. How could a plain, ugly toad like the client ever be heard when she had such a perfect mother like that?

Sighing again, the client calmly looked at the ceiling and said, Let us start this all over again.

Oh yes, yes, we're all about fresh new beginnings. I say, there is always a second chance in life, to turn over a new leaf and leave behind all the negative things in our lives. Yes, in another context, this advice would have seemed relevant to the client, but that was not what she had meant at all.

Oh no, I meant that we need to start over our meeting. I should like to know your name.

Stop dwelling in the past! The smile looked plastered as ever.

Um... My name is Cassandra.

My what a lovely name.

Thank you... what is your name.

So, what does your name remind you of? It is important to like your name, to like yourself. Go ahead, I know, give me a famous quote! It will make you feel better.

eheh...I feel quite well but if I must... Beware Greeks bearing gifts'.

Now why would you say a thing like that?!

Because you asked me to.

Oh! But of course!

Your name is...?

Mrs. Snub. Now, so that we may one day be ... friends... tell me, what does my name remind you of? Surely nothing as terrible of your nasty little quote.

Well, one of the dictionary definitions of the word snub is to refuse to pay attention to (a person)' of course, not to be rude or anything. Cassandra said sheepishly. The woman would probably be angry at her statement, but upon hearing the word all she could think of was its definition in her dictionary.

cried Mrs. Snub. Aren't we philosophical. The plastered smile looked weary by now.

Perhaps'! Well well, miss Cassandra, that is quite a big word! Someone must have influenced you to say such things, though you obviously don't have the mental capacity to understand them. But I can't blame you, anyone would be so, with such plain hair and plain brown eyes.

Well, aren't you going to say anything?

Speak up now.

... What can I say? I do believe you are hard of hearing.

Nonsense. Now, (and she fluttered her eyelashes again) why don't you tell me about your feelings.

I feel, tired, and chilly.

Quit complaining, the smile faded for half a second and suddenly lit up full force.

You should be.

Cassandra sighed. For a while she said nothing, and neither did the psychiatrist. Mrs. Snub scratched happily away at her notepad and seemed to forget that a client was in the room. Then slowly, Mrs. Snub looked up over her notepad, blinked and asked for a quick version of Cassandra's life story, and it must be brief indeed for another client was scheduled to come in soon.

And obediently, Cassandra complied. She would start at the beginning of the big mess and maybe, just maybe, she might possibly be able to get a word through Mrs. Snub's thick skull, and hopefully an important word, not an article such as .
Part II

And here is Cassandra's story (Several years ago, in her 14th year of life).
I was a happy child. I had a mom, a dad, and a brother. We were nice people. The nicest infact. My mother was a supermodel, my father was a nobody, and my brother and I were fraternal twins.
Here was a typical day in our household last year. I would wake up in the morning to the stentorian screeching of my mother. She was simply vociferating towards my brother again like she always does. I don't know what about, but it was very punctual everyday. The first series of screeches would sound out at exactly 7:15 every morning. Then after I had eaten my breakfast (which my faceless father had so kindly put together for us) and gotten ready, I knocked on the bathroom door, my mother was still in there, she'd been there since 6:45 (of course the echo of the bathroom magnified the screeches). I would have let her be, but I really truly had to use the room. So after being ignored for quite sometime, I knocked again. The door opened quickly, nearly knocking me down. My mother was there, clad in the newest designer clothes from Goodwill. (Her philosophy was that if you couldn't get it for free, you shouldn't get it at all, and manipulation of friends in order to get free things was quite admirable. Then she would laugh and whisper to herself that once your rich, you can only get richer!)

What do you want! She said softly, hardly, coldly, like bitter ice.

I asked nicely, May I use the restroom?

NO! How dare you ask! I'm not finished combing my hair yet! Once again, I'd have to wait for the blessed moment I'd arrive at school.

But that would be a while off yet. My mother had to go to her modeling agency that morning, and she had agreed to take us to school, as it was conveniently on the way. My brother and I waited patiently in the car. The first bell at school had just rung, 7:30. If we could leave just then at that very moment, we might, just might, be able to make the second bell at 7:40. We waited quietly and patiently, still as statues, five minutes. We stared blankly at each other and then at the clock, ten minutes. We wiped our brows and bit our lip, we couldn't be late again! fifteen minutes. Finally, I became impatient. (Yes, I know, impatience is a sin of course, and my mother says I shall pay bitterly for it in the end.) I stepped lightly out of the car, leaving my brother to his lonesome, and walked into the house. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looked at the bathroom door and called,
Mother! May we leave now?

I waited for an answer. None came. twenty minutes. We were more than late.

Mother! We are late for class! Won't you come?

Nothing. twenty five minutes.

Then a loud screech, loudest of all screeches came bursting through the door which swung violently open. HUSH UP, YOU RUDE LITTLE DEMON! I'M COMING!

So I patiently waited. thirty minutes.

Mother, please! I whisked myself up the stairs and peered into the bathroom. There was my mother, looking as perfect as ever, her makeup as caked on as ever, and her hair, which she was still brushing addictively, was as flashy as ever. Mother, your hair looks fine. May we go?

Don't you be so rude to me! You get out! To the car, you beast!

So I quietly stowed away to the car whence I had come. forty minutes.

Finally, my mother came out of the bathroom and stormed towards the car. My brother and I strapped ourselves into our seats, with fearful knowledge that at such mornings, this model would become a race car driver. My mother clutched the wheel tightly, leaned forward and fixed her eyes on the road. Suddenly the car jumped into gear and was flying down the street at 185 mph. She cursed as she weaved crazily through the cars and was forced to drive along the sidewalk, as rush hour was full blast.

Just as suddenly as it had started, the car stopped and my brother and I leapt out of it and ran into the school building. We almost expected the car to explode for all the smoke it was letting out.

Well, we got to school and received instant detentions for our tardiness, but other than that, our day was quite enjoyable. I was again picked for Scholar of the Week, I made a state time for the 50 freestyle and the 100 freestyle in swimming, I jumped fifteen feet in track, I won first place in the talent show contest for my singing/ piano playing act, and finally, I was let out early from detention on account that my teachers quite liked me and my poem in English was superb.

My brother that day was upgraded instantly to the quarter back of the football team, he got a date to the dance with the nicest cheerleader in the school (whom I had set him up with), he was awarded the best dressed male, He jumped 40 feet in track, and finally, after long hard work, moved his C in math up to an A, thus also being allowed to leave detention early.

After school, our amiable father picked us up in his jolly white van as we waved goodbye to our happy friends with happy faces. Upon arriving at home, my brother and I ate a happy snack, carrots for me, crackers for him, and began immediately on our homework. In was 5:30 now, and we had five hours worth of homework which meant that we would not be getting to bed that night until 10:30 at the least. Sigh.

My mother came home from work at about 8:00, glared at us, and stomped off to bed. I didn't see her again until the next day when I would be woken up by her daily screeching.

We prayed thankfully over our gourmet feast that our amiable father had prepared for us that day and the three of us did like the Romans, eat, drink, and be merry. My brother and I didn't actually go to sleep until 11:00 that night, and our amiable father refused to return to his basement to sleep until we were satisfied with the production of homework and comfortably tucked into bed. I love you my children! He would say as we went to the basement to receive a kiss before we went to our own beds.

(Before I lied in bed, I changed the bandages on my back which were still soaking up the blood from my mother's claw-like nails that she habitually dug into my flesh. But it was nothing to me. This was a favorite past time of hers since the day I was born. I do say, I would never take her animalistic joys away from her, just because of my own selfishness. Oh no. Infact, the bleeding may have been quite cleansing.) I read about Job in the Bible, said my prayers and thanked God for my wonderful day, and went into blissful sleep.

Now, my dear psychiatrist, let me explain a thing to you. My parents (Beauty and the Beast as they are often referred to as) had been divorced and living like this for just about a year. That's right, it would be exactly 12 months in a week. My mother had decided that she hated my father and would make him pay direly by breaking her marriage contract with him, taking all of the little money he had left, and yet, refusing to leave the house. My mother roamed about the house, when she liked, and claimed the upstairs as her own. Usually she would be out with her sisters, walking and marching and such, and that's when the rest of us would come out of our hiding places. My amiable father, lived in the basement like a mole-rat, hoping that his utter disappearance might cause my perfect mother to love him again. When she could not see him, he would sneak upstairs, cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner, then he would wash the dishes, then he would mop the floor and do other house - things in between going to work and receiving his hard earned money (which was usually leeched from him by my most perfect mother.) My mother would not ever say a word to him, for she was a Beauty and never should she have married a Beast.

My mother would go to her church and burst into sudden tears, Oh poor me! she cried. Her fan-club of women huddled around her, swirling her with love and affection. You are such wonderful friends! I love you so much! Thank you so much for listening to a poor woman's troubles. My horrible horrible beastly husband! He yelled at me all week and told me I was good-for-nothing! And those horrible children! WWWWAAAAAAHHHHHH! My son does PORNOGRAPHY! And he is so lazy!

The fan-club at this moment gave a synchronized gasp in shock. What of your ugly daughter? someone asked, reveling in the slanderous gossip.

Oh! My daughter. She is not lazy because she works at Christian camp... except that she told me she was not going to work there this next year because she needs to earn money for a car.

Oh! That terrible little heathen!

I know! She'll surely burn in Hell!

Heaven forbid!

And its all because of my beastly, no-faced, invisible, fat, black, husband! WAAAAAHH!

Oh you poor little thing!

Suddenly one of the fans stopped to think. Um... excuse me lady, but, if your husband is so completely evil and mean and such... Why are you still living in the same house as him?

All went quiet and my mother looked at the woman incredulously. Ah! Are you on his side now? You traitor! I thought you were my friend! Waaah!

Then my mother and her possy stepped snootily up, and left the woman by herself. She was from then on shunned from the group and not allowed to be even ten feet of any of them, ever.

It came to pass that I discovered a few slanderous letters in my mothers car, and My father saw a few as he was rewiring the computer. Shocked and saddened by the discovery, my father concluded that it was time for my mother to strike out on her own. If she be a single woman, then she should live a single woman's life.

She immediately went crying to her friends, who got her a little apartment with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom with a tub and a shower, and a balcony. She then went to work furnishing it by bursting into our home, taking all of the living room furniture, forcing my father to buy her all bran new bedroom set for her, me and my brother, taking all of our childhood books and movies, office furniture, a $1200 dining table, the golden silverware, all the family photo albums and pictures and cameras, the TV, my brother's boom box, my brother and my tapestries given to us for our birthdays by our blind aunt, my school pictures, my scholar of the week awards, my letter certificate, my swimming pictures, my brothers school pictures, his football certificate, his football pictures, our homecoming pictures, and much much much more.

Then she came storming back to the house and took all the Christmas decorations (except for the naked tree), all the Easter decorations, all the fourth of July decorations and any other things. Then she bought herself a bran new kitchen stereo, a George Forman grill, $10,000 hearing aids, a new tree, and enough new makeup from Bath and Body works to last three years. Then she lost her job (or perhaps quit) at the modeling agency on account that she couldn't get along with her superior and because of her perfect beauty and sweet countenance, instantly secured a job at our school as the copy technician where she has since begun her slanderous stories to the school staff. She then won an award for Valuing Human Life and received flowers everyday because she was such a wonderful, perfect woman.

Then she claimed that she had been cheated by my father and he owed her all of his bedroom furniture, his last camera, the three pictures of her that he had left, all the other decorations he may still have, my new Scholar of the Week award, the desk and the computer that my brother and I rely on for homework, and everything else.

She demanded that my father pay her $1000 a month, plus $500 child-care a week, give her 60% of the tax return money, and finally pay her for all of the legal affairs, lawyers, the mediator, and her new boyfriend's golf clubs. (At one point she applied for welfare.)

My, brother, father, and I decided it would be best to lock the doors and not allow her inside our house because she made it a habit to sneak inside and steal whatever items she could easily procure and stash them away in her apartment.

During this process of our house, desks were emptied, papers dumbed and thrown out of the way, and drawers and clothes emptied and left in piles where they lay. Now the house emptied and messied, the piles of junk she had left reached the ceiling and everything left in desolate disarray. As we continued to live our lives and tried to put the house back in order, we fell in a state of sad depression, especially our father. Why has my wife left me? He would cry. I love her so much! Perhaps one day she will come back to me! But his cries were always in vain. One day he came out of the basement, looked at the house and claimed that he no longer walked through the house in fear. He once again slept in his bed like a human being, rather than a beast.

Soon we left our sadness behind us and rejoiced in the Lord. We had so much to be thankful for. My father was placed to Vice President of his organization and began to preach the truths of God in churches everywhere. We are very proud.

But anyway. Let me get back to my story.
Like all good Christian little girls, I decided that part of honoring your mother and father would most likely be to try and live with my mother Wednesday night, Thur. Fri. Sat. Sun. morning like she claimed that the court had ordered. So we did, but events were quite bitter.

The slanderous gossip never ended. Oh no, it continued and everyday, the stories grew worse. She would invite guests to her humble abode, shower them with food, gifts and kindness. Then they would always say, Oh Lady! How wonderful your life is! Good for you to get away from that AWFUL man! And she would cry her heart out and say, Oh thank you, thank you, kind people.

One day at school, my mother began to shower me with hugs and kisses. It was a grand display to the office women that she worked with and they would cry, Oh! What a wonderful kind mother you are!

Then as she must have me ride home with her she smiled sweetly to all her new friends. They would cry. She is driving her children home! What a wonderful mother!

And on the way home her smiles disappeared and the vampire within would surface. She made it quite clear to me that I was a worthless minor and I had absolutely no rights and that I must bend to her complete, absolute will. Then I would cry, But what if I'd be ruined? and she would say, So be it! and then the next day she would go to her friends and say, Oh poor me! My Horrible daughter yelled at me last night! When I was so kind as to drive her home from school.

And her friends would come to me and scold, You horrible little girl! How dare you yell at your beautiful, kind, benevolent mother! and to my brother, You lazy bum! How dare you spend all of your life - long days sitting on your butt like a potato and feeding your mind with violent, heathen video game images! You should be shot!

And we, like good little fraternal twins would hang our heads in shame and say, Truly sorry ma'am.

One day I became lonely and sad. I couldn't breath in that apartment, my soul lay so heavily on my chest. So I called my father for a bit of a chat. My mother had been coldly cooing at my brother for something, then she came silently like a snake into the room that we shared, saw that I had the phone in my hand, gave me the glare of death and said coldly like an icy snake, You. Put that phone down. I never gave you permission to use it. You will break it. HIIIIIIISSSSSS She had a crazed, mad-woman's look in her eye and I knew that soon she would explode in a burst of frenzied anger, so I hung up the phone.

I don't know why, psychiatrist, but both my brother and I burst into tears. We couldn't help it. We tried not to. And my feeling felt so incredibly heavy that my legs suddenly carried me out of the apartment and quickly down the sidewalk. It may have been a pleasant walk in the suburbs under the bright lamps on a warm, clear night, to anyone else, but for me, I was now a bonified runaway. My brother came running after me and I heard from him later that she threatened to have him jailed if he did like me and ran. But anyway, I ran down the sidewalk and I saw a huge white van coming for me! Hallelujah! I was saved. My father stopped at the corner and my brother and I jumped into it and were swirled with hugs and kisses. Then my father spoke to my furious mother and assured her that her children were safe and sound and that we were all going to bed now.

After that, Mrs. Snub, I never went back to that awful apartment. Every now and again, my father would persuade me to call her and wish her a good day. Once or twice we were persuaded to eat a lunch with her, which felt awkward and strange, and if we uttered a question as of why she was doing such to her family she would suddenly be filled with ire, so we suspended our questions.

And this is how it went. Until one day, my mother's friend asked her, Lady, if your husband is so evil, why do your children live with him and not you?

My mother stopped to think. Oh no! She thought. My perfect countenance will be blemished! If I am to be perfect in the eyes of my friends, I MUST have those darted children living with me! So after shunning the fool who had question her, my mother commenced in raising an army of women against my benign father and got a lawyer.

Suddenly at school, my mother put $10 in my locker, and a stuffed animal. Then she called my brother and I and asked oh so sweetly if we'd have lunch with her. Then she asked oh so sweetly if we'd like to play golf with her boyfriend.

My brother and I declined (politely) the boyfriend, but because we are good Christian children who honor their mother and father, agreed to the lunch. If only I had paid attention to Latin class and remembered, Beware of Greeks Bearing Gifts. I was a fool. I let my guard down and reveled in the sudden kindness... When all of a sudden:

Then her game plan went into action. My mother charged my father with the crime of poisoning her children against her and she was taking him to court. If found guilty, my father would be jailed for 18 months and have to pay her all the rest of his money. Then, HAHAHAHA! her children would be forced into submission and have nowhere to go but with her!

In my sadness, I sought out an old friend to tell my troubles. She received me with smiles and I told her many more things that I have not said here and she suddenly became grave and said, What?! Cassandra, Your mother would never do anything like that! How dare you lie! She's perfect! and I left feeling sad and unheard.

So I turned to a lady counselor at school and told her the story and she said, What?! Cassandra, Your mother would never do anything like that! How dare you lie! She's perfect! so I left feeling sad and unheard.

So then I went to one of my friends, who's mother was part of my mother's fan-club and I told him only a few things and he said, What?! Cassandra, Your mother would never do anything like that! How dare you lie! She's perfect!" so I left feeling sand and unheard.

Then I went to my best friend in the world who knows everything already and she said, Oh I know! Come give me a hug! And I felt happy and heard.

Then our benevolent God, smiled upon us and provided us a friendly millionaire who gave us an excellent lawyer. My brother and I told the lawyer our stories and expressed our serious wish to testify in court that the reason why my brother and I refused to live with our mother was because of the way she treated us.

We learned that we must see a mediator. I thought. This man is a professional, and surely he will not be wooed by my mother's perfect face and he will surely listen to the truth, which seemed to so easily elude people. So with peace I met with the man. I, alone. My brother alone. My dad alone... for half an hour, once, and then he never saw my dad again.
Part III
Meetings with Dr. Ferret.

I sat in his office with my letter jacket wrapped warmly about me. I politely waited for Dr. Ferret to initiate the conversation. Hello Cassandra, he said. He did not smile as you do, Mrs. Snub, but he did ask me some questions. So I told my story and he shook my hand and said, Thank you for your time, Miss Cassandra, And I left feeling that if Dr. Ferret listened to me and my brother, there may yet be hope in the world.

Dr. Ferret was truly, like a ferret. He had weasily (Ferret-like) features, rodent teeth, a small wet nose, fur about his lower face, and small beady eyes which he enhanced with thick bulletproof glasses. When he talked he clicked his little rodent teeth and twitched his little rodent nose, and when he sat, he rubbed is little rodent fur with his little rodent paw.

My brother spoke to him after me, and told the exact same story as I, but in his point of view. Then my father spoke to him after my brother and told the exact same story as my brother but in his point of view. And all the while, Dr. Ferret clicked his little rodent teeth and twitched his little rodent nose when he spoke and rubbed his little rodent fur with his little rodent paw when he sat.

I was happy. Surely Dr. Ferret would listen to us! Then he would tell the court the truth and all of this would end!
But I was wrong. He spoke with my mother twice before seeing my brother and I again, (he never talked to my amiable, faceless father again, who was, in his opinion, crazed and over fanatical about his Christian philosophies).

As I sat, ready to see what would happen next, Dr. Ferret produced a pamphlet of my brother's last birthday, months and months ago. Look here, he said, twitching his nose. Do you remember this day? I looked at the pamphlet and, yes. I did. My mother had made it. There were pictures of me, my brother, my cousin, and my brother's friend holding and admiring quite tame snakes. My mother's picture was included at least once on each page, with a most professional smile, and a few innocent poses that she had learned from the modeling agency. I looked at the pamphlet and then at Dr. Ferret, wondering why he was showing this to me.

Your mother says she cooked all your meals, got you to school on time everyday, loved you with all her heart, did your hair everyday, and now that you do it on your own it looks so plain, you ugly dog, and she took care of you, took off of work just to love you and how do you repay her?! You bite her in the hand! You, dog of all dogs! You should be ashamed.

So desperately, I tried to reveal the deceit and lies and tell Dr. Ferret my story once again, but he ignored it and manipulated and twisted each line. Dr. Ferret, I concluded. I don't hate my mother at all! I just don't like how she treats me and I wish this would end! I just don't want to be forced to live with her.

Oh, I see. So you do miss your mother and you can't live without her. Look at you, you're a wreck. You obviously need a mother in your life.

Of course sir, All children need a mother, but my mother has not functioned normally as one and I feel emotionally jeopardized when I live with her for long periods of times and when she gets really angry, Sir, she gets violent. My brother had a scar on his wrist for months, sir when she nailed him with her claws, and it's sudden behaviors and slow mental pains like that sir that frustrate me. I can't live with her I'm sorry.

Then Dr. Ferret became vexed at me. He elevated his voice a bit and said, Cassandra, I'm on nobody's side! All I'm trying to do is restore your relationship with your mother, since you so obviously need it. Look at you, crying like a baby.

I became angry at Dr. Ferret. He had not listened to a word I said. How could I possibly reply? He was just as stubborn as you, Mrs. Snub. Excuse me, sir! I said. I should like to tell you that I don't think I've bonded with my mother like other children have. My aunt tells me all the time that when I was a baby she came to live with me and take care of me since my mother was bedridden and incapable. And because I read often and pay attention in school sir, (I had in my lap a five hundred page anthology of modern science) I have come to the conclusion that perhaps my distant relationship with my mother began in my infancy. Therefore, there is no relationship that can be restored, for the one that was there, was weak, sickly, and unhealthy. (such things I never said to anyone and probably shouldn't have said then, but I had just read about infancy and bonding in my brother's biology book and it had reminded me of my aunt's words and I just had to say it.)

Oh! Bonded! Dr. Ferret scribbled furiously on his notepad. I don't hear children your age saying that word often! I stared at him in confusion. People say all the time. How can it be so odd that I'm not a stupid idiot?

Black children only know how to say Yesa' Masa. Bonded' is far too sophisticated for your kind. Someone is obviously poisoning you against your mother and feeding you lies. In fact, I do believe they have been doing this to you since your birth.

I chose not to say any more. Everything I said was manipulated and changed completely into something that it never was.

After a long silence, Dr. Ferret said, You hate your mother don't you! You think she's evil and has no forgivable qualities.

No sir, I never said that!

Yes you did, stop living in denial!

No sir, I'm not! I simply meant that the things she does frustrates me and I can't live with her, because sir, I know that's what this is all about.

No! No one is trying to force you to do anything! All I'm trying to do is get you to live with your mother, that's all. Is that so hard, Cassandra?

Mrs. Snub, compared to Dr. Ferret, you are quite pleasant.

Then the meeting was adjourned and I shook Dr. Ferret's hand, wanting to cry and left.

To my utter horror and dismay, I had to see Dr. Ferret again, this time with the wicked witch of the West herself... my mother!

I sat on the couch, my mother on a chair , Dr. Ferret on the other side of us. I felt cramped and nervous and hot. My mother had a radiant commercial smile. She looked at me almost lovingly, but I could see the lava boiling beneath.

Dr. Ferret again began the conversation, I told your mother about how you don't feel you bonded' with her. And she looked at me with her large piteous eyes (that don't really glow in the dark) and said, Oh Dr. Ferret, I was sick at the time' and I looked at her and I felt so terribly sorry for her.

My mother nodded her head in solemn agreement, looking sadly at the floor.

Then I told her how you feel that she neglected you. Tell her Lady, tell your daughter the truth.

Then my mother's eyes swelled up in tears and she said, Oh my beautiful daughter. I was always at your school events, taking oh so many pictures of you, I did your hair and I cooked for you and I loved you. Waaah! And now you hate me!

First of all, mother, I replied. I do not hate' you. That's against my religious beliefs. Second of all, I do my own hair, thank you very much -

She interrupted with, And it looks awful! It was so much prettier when I did it.

Except for that when you did it you yanked mercilessly on my head and screamed at me to shut up when I cried out in pain. You see, ma'am, I've also been doing my own hair since I was the age of 8, and your argument has no relevance, since this turn of events is so recent and I am now 15. You did take pictures at school, but that was in front of all the teachers and they would look at you and say, oh your so perfect!' and then when I got home, you would beat me.

Then my mother wailed and cried again.

Look at what you've done! You dreadful little toad! Dr. Ferret cried out, twitching his nose angrily.

I'm sorry, but she's hurt me, and I can't trust her.

Oh come now, look at her! Your a big 15 year old! She can't hurt you!

Emotionally she can!

Nonsense, how old are you.

How old were you when she abused' you

My most horrific memories are from 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, and the beginning of this year while I was living with her.

Ha! 10! What's the difference between 15 and 10!

Stop being a smart - allick! It's a big difference.

Are you still ten?

No, sir

Then you need to move on with your life and stop living in the past!

But sir, she continued to claw at me and hurt me and tell me I don't have any rights just this year! It's not fair!

You whiney brat! How could you not love a face like that?

And the conversation went as thus, with my mother trying her best to hide her malicious smile by staring at the floor while I argued with Dr. Ferret. Finally it was all over and I could leave.

Then to my horror and dismay, I had to see Dr. Ferret again, this time with my brother and my mother. My brother and I decided that we would no longer be seeing Dr. Ferret on account of his manipulation, one sidedness, and closed ears to our pleas. It was to be after school. We told our mother that we would not be seeing Dr. Ferret that day and that we should not go ever again.

OH! BEWARE GREEKS BEARING GIFTS! If only I had listened the words of my Trojan namesake!

My mother said sweetly to us, Oh, my children, we will go to a restaurant, eat our fill, and I will take you home. Well, we were hungry after a long day at school... After some consideration, my brother and I decided it would be safe to eat with her.

Yes, we did eat our fill, and we sleepily stepped into the car to go on our way home. But we did not go home. We arrived at Dr. Ferret's office. Our mother had deceived us. My brother and I looked at each other and mutually decided that perhaps now that we wouldn't be outnumbered 2 to 1, perhaps we might get our message across to Dr. Ferret, since we both had exactly the same story to tell, and we had both said it separately to Dr. Ferret 3 times, and yet he still didn't get the clue.

This meeting was just as bad, if not worse than the others. Once again, Dr. Ferret defended our mother against us. But I realize now that it was only natural for him to do so, my mother is beautiful and perfect and my brother and I so plain and ugly. This time, my brother and I were accused of playing off of each other and hating our mother and dwelling in the past and we're making great progress! and Oh, I like you guys! Hahahahaha! (and my mother would join in on the laughter). Oh terrible, terrible! Then he said that he had called our older brother that morning (who was not really our big brother but might as well have been) and he said that our brother said, Oh, I didn't see any kind of abuse at all! She was a very nice mother. Yes, she was quiet, but hey! So am I.

My brother and I were silent. Big Brother... he had lived with us for so long! How could he too be so blind to the injustices! My brother and I, feeling betrayed and defeated, finally gave up our resistance to Dr. and he and my mother were very happy.

After that evening, Big Brother called to see how it went. Solemnly we told him and to our joy an delight discovered that, that was not what Big Brother had said at all!

He had spoken to Dr. Ferret for a maximum of two minutes and the conversation went somewhat like so: Big Brother said, Oh yes, I wasn't there for most of the time. I was gone or in my room.

But did you actually witness the mother strike at her children?

Well, no, but then I wasn't there. I did hear lots of screaming and crying though..

Ok thanks, bye-bye

Big Brother said he felt used. He didn't want to seem like he was taking sides, but now my mother had by default recruited him to her list of allies. (Little did she know, Big Brother really did know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and when he testified in court, that was all that he intended to tell.)

I say, Mrs. Snub! Lies and deceit can't live forever! I was going to testify as well and then all the world would see the Truth! Apollo's curse can't stay on me forever!

Part IV
Court

After a nervous morning, everyone was seated before the judge, prepared to commence the hearing. My mother on one side with her boyfriend, Dr. Ferret, and an army of about 200 angry women, on the other side were my father, my brother and me. There was no jury. (The lawyer we'd originally had suddenly died of a heart attack the night before).

My mother's lawyer was handsome and dashing. He flashed a twinkling smile before the judge and she melted at the sight of him, falling instantly in love.

Flustered, the judge pounded her little hammer upon the pedestal and said, Let us begin... but wait one moment. Just so you know, you ugly black beast on the defendant side, I've already made up my mind.

And our old decrepit lawyer protested, But, your grace, we haven't even began the session!

And the judge, with pink cheeks, raged, Silence! And what are those horrid little rats doing in here?!

And our old decrepit lawyer answered, You mean these children? Why they are the witnesses called up by the defendant.

And the judge, with pink cheeks, raged, What! You mean those little toads are going to ... testify? I will have none of it! Remove them at once!

And our old decrepit lawyer answered, But it is the defendant's constitutional right as stated by the sixth Amendment, everyone has the right to call up a witness -

To Hell with the Constitution! This is MY court and we will do it My way! Remove those spots from my sight immediately or I shall call upon the police.

No buts! Now, look, I'm calling the police. Hello? Yes, there has been a disturbance here, I have a couple of rascals disturbing -

Angered, but silenced into submission I stood and said, Excuse me, ma'am. That is quite unnecessary. My brother and I are leaving.

So we left.

We were covertly informed by Big Brother later:
To make a long story short, Dr. Ferret had declared that my plain brother and I were far to ugly to have any shred of human intelligence and that our father had planted seeds of dissent into our empty little heads. That anything we would have said was not our own words at all, oh no, but the words of our beastly father who had prepared us to speak like parrots before the judge. Any anger we felt was caused Divorce Syndrome A, D, and E. And that we had Mental Problems C, Q and R. And the both of us were Emotionally Unstable and the only solution for our salvation was to sedate us with drugs L, M, and O and the occasional medicinal marijuana.

And my mother's charming lawyer flashed another toothy grin, and the judge melted at his dashing good looks, pounded her little hammer and sentenced my beastly father to 18 months in jail and psychiatric help for his plain little children.

And my mother and her army of 200 women partied for three days.
Part V
Back to the Present.

Cassandra had finally finished her long narrative about the events leading up to her meetings with Mrs. Snub. Now Cassandra and her fraternal twin brother were 17 years old, they'd been living in a psychiatric facility for minors (a.k.a. a mad house) for the past two years. Cassandra had not seen her brother, or her father, or her mother since the court date (as they'd been whisked away by authorities so suddenly). Everyday, day in, day out, the children were shoved into a little room with psychiatrists such as Mrs. Snub who would to their problems and then prescribe sedatives (including the medicinal marijuana) to the children.

And that is my story, Mrs. Snub, Cassandra finished, now feeling worn out and tired.

What a wretched girl you are to speak to me for so long! Have you any clue how late you made me for my next client? And Mrs. Snub was smiling bright as a cherub.

No ma'am, I am sorry.

Good. And judging by the violent state you appear to be in... wake up you! Ehem. Judging by the violent state you appear to be in I shall prescribe these medicines to you, no need to ask what they are, dear, and off you go, back to your... home. I'll see you tomorrow. Same thing, same time.

And one of the facility's disciplinarians grabbed Cassandra by the arm and dragged her to her barred cubicle (for the recklessly insane). She would have followed him obediently without being dragged, but as always Cassandra was not to be trusted. Even after thousands of years, the Curse of Apollo plagued this girl for her namesake, Cassandra. Though she held the truth at the tip of her tongue, never would she be granted the blessing of anyone believing her.

But Cassandra understands, there is nothing to believe from the Mentally Unstable like her. May she rest in silence for all the days of her youth.