visions of gideon — angel. & parson.

The expanse of Mackenzie’s lawns and gardens, seen through the windowpane in front of the piano, was as grim as my current state of mind.

I stretched my arms over the dark piano’s surface and registered the variety of the avian creatures feasting upon the sugar water and the berry seeds stored inside the little, whimsical birdhouses that hung from the window-sill. Dark ravens. Exuberant woodpeckers. Raucous pigeons. The manor was drenched in quietness, stripped of its usual fervor and energy, because the Capitol demanded Mackenzie’s presence, Marley wanted to take a stroll in the district, Lex avoided me like a spreading malady, and because I didn’t know much about the other two residents — Maxine and Mackenzie’s mother — to pester them.

The only thing I could consider as company was the flock of grey-plumed pigeons cooing near the wooden bird-houses, each one of them with a juniper berry locked between their short beaks. But so far, they were tempting me to jab a fork in my good ear with their incessant birdsong and other noises.

Groaning, I rose to my two feet, slipped on a brown jacket that overly smelled of citrus shampoo, and walked out to the lawns. Because Mackenzie wasn’t here, his cleaners weren’t either, and their absence was evident in the lawns’ overgrowth. Ivies crisscrossed each other over decorative shrubs of leaves and the long grass that carpeted the lawn desperately needed a trim. I passed the lawns, feeling rather odd and annoyed from its gradual dilapidation, and made course towards the district.

In my head, I made a long, extensive list on how I could spend my time. I could crawl to a bar that did not care for day and night, dwell on my existence with a mug of beer and a pretty face. I could, furtively, go to the meadows near the district’s outskirts.

On days such as this one, everything depended on me and my sordid decisions; the world was a wet mold I could give shape to.

It was a hot, sultry day with a blistering heat that encouraged bad, disastrous decisions.

The one decision I made sounded more and more ludicrous the longer I pondered about it. It was something I’d avoided doing for so long, out of pure cowardice, out of raw fear. But, my feet were mechanic and did not listen to the protest of my heart — they charged forward, one by one, carrying me back towards Mackenzie’s house, past the high threshold of its simple door.

My heart was a roaring beast the moment I stood in front of the phone, its ivory handle curved like a deadly sickle that could make me bleed if I touched it. After wringing my hands for some long minutes, I reached out for it and I didn’t bleed, not on the outside anyways. It felt so much heavier than it actually was in the tight clench of my fist. Teddy Ursa’s number was jotted down on a yellow note pack and stuck to the wall ahead of the phone, conveniently.

It took me long, stretched minutes to slow my breaths and a few seconds to dial the number. A low sound played, much much quieter than the rising crescendo of my heart, as I waited.

I expected Teddy to answer, but it wasn’t him.

The static “hello” that chimed from the phone’s cruel mouth belonged to Parson Cham.

“Hey,” I rasped; it felt as if the black phone cord was wrung around my neck. “It’s me, Angel.”