Letters To Edmund |book 1|

Chapter 1. The Library

Destiny. She read the word over and over again as if it were in an endless kaleidoscope on a simple white sheet of an A4 paper. What did destiny mean? Perhaps it was all a personal concept, like when one reaches their at most desired state of being, reaching their personal destiny that way. Or perhaps destiny was meeting someone at the right place at the right time, like it was destiny for her mother to meet her father. Or destiny could be a fateful event, like her father disappearing without a trace leaving her mother alone with a child of 4 years old. Yes, destiny was on her mind a lot, and specifically on the sheet of paper that she was staring at. Her view shifted from it to the classroom she was present in. Grey walls, and even greyer floors, and half broken metal desks. Everyone else was either texting on their phones or writing something on their papers. She looked from left to right, realizing that the teacher was not paying too much attention. Her savior on most days, the bell, rang and they were all free to go. Stuffing her paper assignment into her backpack, she put it on and walked out the door. The teacher was still looking down at her phone, not caring about the students who were walking out. This place was as boring as the class even her teacher couldn't stand to teach. She needed to find an escape.

The best escape one can find is a good book, so she resorted to that, and when she read most of the exciting stories she thought were worth her while, she roamed the aisles of local libraries searching for more. She read Ray Bradbury, and without finding an answer in him she dove into Aldous Huxley. Still, there was nothing there except for more questions. Franz Kafka wasn't much help, and neither was Nathaniel Hawthorn. Noticing different patterns in one mans existence, she sighed regretfully. At least books showed her that, patterns. You are born, you suffer through self criticism that was inflicted in you upon others, you find escape. Upon seeking her destiny, she found that the world was too large of a spectrum to find it. She would have to go out into unimaginable places, where her mind was the only limit. She remembered of the dream she had the night before, a reoccurring one.She dreamed of her father, she could never see his face, but she knew he was there, only a dark figure that was standing in front of her. Then like always, her mother woke her up with the calling of her name.

"Angelina," her mother sang out, she too was looking for her destiny. That was the reason they moved from North Carolina to London, England. For most teenage girls with social issues, that would be a dream come true, but for Angelina it was a change she wasn't ready to go through.

To say she was different from her peers would be an exaggeration. Angelina was nothing special, she was just a girl born into a certain type of family, a carefree family. When other girls would put on make up, she'd put on sunglasses. Where other girls went to the gym and took picture of their slim stomachs, she would binge eat salt and vinegar chips as she watched TV. The truth has the ability to burn, but she didn't mind being different from others, however that difference was interpreted. But, peoples words sting for longer than truth burns.

She got out of bed and welcomed the oncoming painful day. Looking in the mirror she debated whether to tame the frizzy light brown hair on her head. Her blue eyes glistened as she eyed the hairbrush, but decided against that, maybe her mother would not notice. The day was already promising to be bad enough. If her day went particularly horrible, she'd treat herself to a night stroll down to the local library at 11 pm and sneak in to sit among the books and pretend like she is up to something genius in her mind.