My own little world {Kiah}

FALLEN ANGEL: AN ANGEL THAT HAS REBELLED AGAINST GOD AND CAST FROM HEAVEN.

What do you picture when you hear the word angel? A beautiful lady dressed in a silk white dress, that flows from her, like she is lost in a storm of innocence, purity? Does this goddess of the night glow? Angels… huh. My parents used to call me their little angle. They used to tell me how wonderful I was, they would drown me in their love. There praises. Sometimes I didn’t even know what I had done to deserve the right to indulge in their love, and respect. But I never questioned their love, their attention. I cherished it. I used to think that it was the best thing in the world, I used it think it was the greatest achievement. Just a small lift of the corner of the lips was enough. They always won me over, I would always go running into their arms, telling them that I loved them, that I wanted to be with them forever. And they promised me – promised me- that they would always be here for me…

I didn’t want to be like everyone else, fearing for their lives, shit scared of the Capitol. I didn’t want to be that. I wanted to be me own person. To be free. No one controlled me. I controlled myself. I decided my actions, they were not laced with the capitols rules. I made my own path in life, one that was all full of fun and adventure. I was not your average 17 year old in the district. Other trained hard to become a career; they wanted to be in the games, to risk their lives for a spot light of glory. Yes, I was a career. I trained, but I did not by far obsess myself with knifes and pointy sticks. I practiced yeah, most nights, I played with some knife, throwing them at a dart board. Hitting each time. But to me, to me it was all just a joke, for fun. My real passions was the ocean. My real passion was surfing, to feeling the rush of adrenaline that would oar through me as I climbed onto a wave and rode it till the end, conquering what may have seemed impossible to others.

She sits by my bed, he hand stroking my hair, gentle, and rythmatically. Slowly, ever so slowly I feel the pull of sleep pulling me closer and closer to darkness. Her fingers run gentle over my dark brown hair, over the gentle curve of my chin. She sings quietly to me, but her mouth stays such. She does not open it, but yet music can be heard, the gentle sound of her voice in my ears, the loving caresses of her hand along my face and hair soon send me off into darkness where the dreams of the sleeping hours wait for me. Wait for me so that they can pounce on me, so that the fun can begin. Well it may be fun for the dreams, but for me, for me it’s horrify. For me it is not dreams that I am being sent away to, but nightmares.

When you look at someone, what do you see? A pretty face? Someone that looks as though they small dog shit everywhere they go? You judge them, don’t you? Making your mind up on them. That person with a pretty face? Yeah that person you thought would be an angel, kind and caring? Then you get to know them, and they are a total ass hole… that person that looks stuck up and grumpy? When you get to know them, they may be the kindest person you have meet. Looks hide, shield, a person from their true identity.

The girl turns away from the grabby shop window and starts to head down one of the many streets of District Six. She seems to radiate in self-confidence as she marches down the street. She seemed to know exactly where she was going, her feet making no sound on the cement pathway. She held her head high and the smile that smile that had formed on her lips earlier stays painted there as she rounds the corner that would lead her to the hospital. People who I have talked to tell me that she is a girl who radiates with a sense of life, that she is a girl who is usually smiling and happy. They tell me how friendly she is and always ready to offer comfort or just a genuine smile. Watching her now I would think no different.

I remember all the other times that I had followed her. Recording them, here in my investigation files. I remember each one of them as if it was almost yesterday. One day I had followed her into an empty building, well what I had thought was an empty building, it turned out that it was empty, it is hard to explain, hard to believe that this place was home to people. But it was. There were people lying in the corners, some of the motionless, as if they were… dead. Other say against the wall, weak bones visible, skin as thin as paper.

I had been surprised, surprised that I had missed this in my previous observation of Miss Swann, after all how could I miss something like this. Coming to y sense I had asked myself, why she was here? Why would she associate herself with these people? It was questions like these that convinced me to stay, that convinced me to stay and find out why. I had been so engrossed wit5h my own thoughts that I had lost sight of Miss Swann, silently screaming at myself I had begun my search to find here.

That’s when I figured out more about who she was that when my fascination in her grew until it was almost an obsession. She was helping them. I couldn’t believe it, she was helping them, by stealing food and essentials that could help the survive the next day. I watched as she handed a small loaf of bread to one of the younger men, he had looked at her, as though she was the most important person in the world. She smiled at him, grabbing at his free hand, and bringing it to her face. It was not until this moment that I realised the importance of this person to her. She loved him.