Prologue:

The best of my talents was always reading.

Not Cask of Amontillado reading, but actual reading. People reading.

I realize things, much like any person should, but I picture in my mind why a person would do it, how they could do it in the easy manner, or how they screwed it up. Dialogue, and action.

It's just been proven that people usually reveal themselves in that way--nonverbal. Verbal is too hard to interpret, but action...

It's harder to lie with an action.

Twitching, shaking, or no movement at all. Berlin Wall stillness or shock stillness?

All those types of movements can tell an emotion, well-hidden or broadcast, if someone's hiding something, or if, like everyone would want to know, that someone was really that big of an idiot.

Reading was for me, and people who tried and hid, I found it later. If I wanted to. One thing to note about a talent is that you never master it until you can turn it off and on.

That is, until I found out about my greatest foe besides myself and butt fat: my mother.

Only one thing I can note about that woman... okay then, two: she made a mistake in marrying my art instructor, and mothers do more damage than earthquakes.

And yet, when I shouldn't care about her anymore, I need to. I've never missed marks, people I want to and don't want to observe.

Families not only suck, but they don't get excused.

Especially my mother.