Stepping Into An Angel's World

Chapter 1: Who I Am

Being yourself in a world like this was something I never would think would be so hard. Sure, lots of people fell face first into the pool of society, drowning in it, and never resurfacing as who they once were. They become different, something they never thought they would be.

I made sure I wouldn't become one of those people, and that I would be different. I didn't want to remove every trace of my former self to please society. I wanted to be known for being myself, not what others wanted me to be.

I was known for my cunning wits, my ability with a pen, and my bright red, flaming hair with matching sky blue eyes. I was the writer of a thousand words, creating more with a pen than anyone my age. My creations each had their own special name, and their own place amongst both my personal style, and my heart.

I signed with the name Seraphina Junia, but to those close to me, I was given the name of Sera. It was explained as meaning "fiery one" and I enjoyed the name, not just because of the meaning. It made me feel like I had friends, for the nickname soon caught on amongst fellow people in my profession, and it made me feel like I was wanted, something I never was before now.

I used to always be the one in the corner, the one wrapped up in a book, the one who always made the good grades, and the one to always end up on the darker side of people.

I never saw the good in people, always the darker sides. Maybe it was how I grew up, in the shadows, trying to stay out of the way of society's trainwreck on people. Maybe it was how I was treated, like an outcast amongst those who knew me. I can still here the whispers.

"It's the book girl." I would here being murmered around me. Where I came from, most people didn't care for books, and I was thoroughly surprised that they even knew what a book was by how they acted.

"I wonder how much of a life she wishes she had." They always acted as if I couldn't hear them, and for some reason, it didn't really hurt as much as you think it would.

After years of torment, years of hatred, I guess I didn't feel anything anymore. Those people around me never cared about me, so I learned not to care about them.

I can hear them now though, now that I'm where I am in the world. Now that I'm one of the most successful young writers out there.

I was never going back to that town though, not back to the place I grew up in hatred. I would rather stick with my imagination and my pen.

Yes my pen.

My pen was my best friend since I was young. If it could talk, it could tell stories of immense creation and fantasy worlds with characters that seemed alive. Sometimes I wish it gave me ideas, and then some days I'd rather stick to mine.

Yeah, maybe I should stick with mine.

Sometimes I reflect on things like this as I'm writing, trying to gain inspiration from it.

It's unbelievable, especially as I set my pen down from working on my next creation, which I decided to title "The Lies Untold." The story seemed to really dance off the pages to me as I wrote it, the characters being some of the most ellaborate I've ever written.

'I wish I could quit the writing.' I thought to myself, running my hands through my fiery hair, examining my latest addition to my new work.

At times it was tough, very tough, to get a new story out, especially one that appeals to today's society. No one wants to think anymore. Everyone wants the answer simple and there and no plot twist, no characters to figure out their deep dark secrets. Just plain and simple.

"You need to read some more of today's writing." My publicist would tell me. "Maybe then you could understand what everyone is interested in and write that, instead of this constant hit and miss and trials and errors."