Well crap. I have left my flash drive-that holds ALL of my stories-at a friends' house. She's on vacation with her family, and her home has house-hold security. Long story short: I can't get into her house alone.

I'm telling you this because I can't update ANYTHING for a couple of weeks. And I just realized I've skipped three chapters of Life.

And it kinda screws up several other chapters of it. For example: right after the audition, and they start arguing, Bob pulls up Cecil's sleeves to reveal scars. There was a chapter for that. And a part two.

And a chapter focused on the school back then.

Ah. I'll make it up to you soon. Besides, Bob was dark because he was on drugs. The chapter with the scars reveals that, and I'm not afraid to tell anyone this.

For now, please read and review the rest! Or The Baby!

She was alone. Utterly, utterly alone. Looking down from the top bunk, Francesca could see her giggling husband. She still loved Roberto. He only needed time.

At least, it would have been fine. If they weren't in jail. Oh, if only they hadn't been caught. If only that stupid boy and his family had stayed away from them, they would all have been much, much happier.

Sighing, she grabbed onto the end of the top bunk, and, swaying herself, flipped over to the floor. A little trick from the streets of Italy, learned from a fellow gypsy.

Ah, the good days. The drunken men of Italia would bend to Francesca's every whim after seeing her performance. And then . . . She gazed at her husband, now into one of his fits, rocking himself back and forth.

She turned to her mother-in-law, who never moved from that exact same seat on the bottom bunk. Never put down her Complete Works of Shakespeare. Even when Dame Judith was done, she would shut her eyes and whisper every line of every play to herself. And when she was done with that, she would re-read the book. It was weird to Francesca.

And then the father. He was a bit more active, shifting himself from the rocking chair to the table where either poker or chess was played. He always sat and read, rolling his eyes at both sons, announcing "there he goes again" every time Roberto went into one of his fits. It was all that you ever heard from him.

The brother now. Cecil. He was a bit more friendly then he was when they first met. They would talk. Many conversations were rather boring though, none memorable. The only thing that she kept asking him about was his childhood after hearing about the scars.

Apparently, when they were still teenagers, Roberto was selling drugs with Snake and the clown's present sidekick. When Cecil had caught them with the cases of it, Roberto had apparently made sure the witness would never tell.

Cecil had the scars to prove Roberto did it, too. There was even a giant B near his elbow.

Everyday, she would ask him about his childhood. And everyday, she would hear stories about how he, a lost love named Maris, and Marge Simpson would have little adventures of their own. She could not believe that he would be friends with a Simpson, but she guessed they had no reason to hate each other back then.

Throughout these days, Francesca would sit quietly with her head in her hands, like a child listening to her grandfather's tales over a campfire. She came to like Cecil, and feel sympathy for him. He was the closest one to a friend in prison, besides Lou. Lou had done so much for her. She owed him her and Gino's lives.

It was Lou that had taken in Gino. Taught him how to be a child again, instead of a hateful young brat. He even got Gino to befriend the baby, Maggie, forgiving the family.

They still got to visit each other. And every time, the only reaction they got out of Roberto was for him to giggle softer. Francesca had tried to calm, him, snap him out of this . . . this insanity. Though she still loved him, he was no longer the hero who saved her from the high rapists. They had fallen for each other immediately after that, and within a couple of months, had Gino.

Gino had a good life now, outside of prison. That was the only thing that kept her going, was that he was happy. Happier than any of them. He had friends again, a young love (she was proud to admit. I support Maggie x Gino. Get over it.). He had taught her to forgive the Simpsons. Lisa had been drunk when she tore off Roberto's mayor suit, revealing the prison uniform. Though that was a good reason to hate them, it was technically because of Bart that Bob had moved to Italia in the first place.

For that, she thanked him. And now, heading across the room, she could see the gift she requested from Lou. Lovely. It was here.

Francesca picked it up, and headed for the table in the center of the room. Cecil was shuffling cards to himself. Excusing herself, she stepped onto the face of the table. She could feel most eyes on her now. She didn't care.

"What are you doing?" Cecil stared up at her.

"I'm trying to fix something up here, something that should have been fixed awhile ago."

"Alright . . ." he continued to shuffle cards, looking up occasionally at her.

She reached up to the hanging bulb, and checked to make sure it was sturdy enough. She stood up there, trying the get the present on there.

Soon, it was time for them all to go out to the courtyard and exorcise. Francesca chose to stay. Roberto didn't move. He never did.

Now they were alone. She started to cry now, seeing her husband like this. Thinking of how miserable life on the streets of Italy was. Thinking of her son, who was slowly forgetting his real family. Thinking of her mother-in-law, who lived inside her head. Her father-in-law, who went in circles. Brother, who was as depressed as she was.

Ah. He could use her rope.

She turned to her husband, who was now staring at her, chuckling softly.

"Roberto," her voice was a hearse whisper, "I love you. You know I do. But this isn't the way it should be." she tied the rope around her neck now, in a granny's knot. "If you love me, stop me. If your heart is so content on killing Bart Simpson, then at least tell our son I loved him. You owe him that."

She shut her eyes, letting her body lean forward . . . And off the table. No one else was there. As his wife slowly died, Sideshow Bob started cackling so loudly you could hear it echoing off of the prison walls.

Oh, and I sincerely wish whoever wants to kick off Francesca and Gino will use this in their story/ies. I just wanted something that shows she cared, ya know? And if you do use this, then please tell people you used it from me. I own copyright for writing it. It doesn't make sense, but I do.

Thanks for reading, and you will see more one-shots from me until my friend gets back.