Her father taught her to fight like a hell-cat; her mother was teaching her whoring, before Social Services intervened.
I taught her to read and write, telling her she could be the brightest and the best.
Down the line, probably at a price, someone polished, reinvented her, and covered her tracks so few knew her origins, and she remained tight-lipped.
I see her on television often. She’s cool and capable, as I knew she could be. And very, very powerful.
I’m not sure that anyone’s taught her to be happy.
Still, we did a good job, for the most part.
I can’t help thinking that given the time we had to think about this prompt photo, I should have come up with a better story. Still, it is what it is. Thanks to Rochelle, esteemed leader of Friday Fictioneers, especially for the extra time this week. 🙂