Her name was Marzipan. Her mother insisted on it. As if it were illegal to name her anything but that. Her father was a dead beat who skipped town when she was five for a bleach blown waitress and a hook up for some herion. Marzipan knew her life was messed up. But she never could have imagined that every thing she new about her past was a lie. So many secrets can be held forever.
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