Reason to Love

No Average Angel

My room. A nice place where I hang out in the mornings and watch random TV shows on my tablet to waste time.

After Apollo gets in, he examines my ‘lair’. My bed hasn’t been made since last Friday, dark curtains half open, purple walls that were supposed to be a lavender colour looked dark adding to the messiness. Dresser had random stuff on it, mainly drawings and books.

The tiny bookshelf-like storage unit with bins in it that was white, unlike the dark mahogany bedroom set with fake granite tops that looked like it was too big and outgrew the room. The bookshelf that was perhaps a meter (three feet) high was covered with a big cd player and a shoebox filled with calculators, pencils, and miscellaneous art supplies. The bin in the top right corner had my swimsuit half sticking out of it. The bin below it had belts hanging out of it. The slot below that was piled high with old binders and papers and junk.

My nightstand held a lamp that was not plugged in, two clocks; my iHome and my old clock that sat on top of a tissue box that was in a wooden tissue box holder. My portable CD player was also there, buried beneath a CD case and some other stuff including the case that was supposed to protect my crap-phone.

My floor had a few things on it, but nothing of much concern.

I shut the door to reveal the wall behind it and the back of it. A big grouping of drawings and lyrics to a song. Apollo’s eyes grow large and he scowls, “so I’ve got a fish that can draw as my partner! What has this world came to?!”

I slap him upside the head, “I told you to not call me a fish!”

He looks annoyed, “you can slap pretty hard though…”

“That’s not my best work. I keep my real work hidden. The only ‘great’ thing here is that picture of Maxiean at the bottom. It’s in colour. Says ‘Pierce the Darkness that Encloses Your Soul’.”

He looks at the drawing carefully, “what does that mean? Darkness surrounds your soul?”

I sigh, going to a corner where a stack of notebooks were. I pick up the one with the purple book cover with hearts on it. It wasn’t me, I’m all dark and deep, but it made it seem more…comforting.

The notebook was a five-subject notebook that used to be my history notebook in the seventh grade. I loved notebooks.

I flip open to the third section and shift through those pages until I come across what I was looking for. I start to read a quote aloud. “’I’ve been through a lot. I’ve even changed sides in this damn never-ending battle between good and evil. But I’ve noticed that to clear myself and to truly be a good person, my soul must stay good. So all that darkness that blocks my way, I shall pierce it. Pierce that darkness that encloses my soul. I’ll be good then. Then people will believe that I’m changed and truly a good person. And then I won’t have to hide myself. Away from society’ Maxiean spoke with eagerness and faith. She was crying though. Her tears shined like starlight. The ten or so people in front of her cried too and hugged her. One of them smiled and whispered, ‘thank you, Maxiean. Thank you for being so honest with us. We knew you weren’t the bad guy.’ ‘I’m not the bad guy here, nor the good guy,” Maxiean looked happy and devoted for saying what could have easily destroyed another man. “Not yet. I can try but the only way people will accept me is if I have a perfect past. But our leader—she doesn’t care where we came from—she doesn’t care about our past. It’s where and who we are now, and what we promise and devote our hearts and minds to do in our future.’” I stop reading my story there. This was actual lines I wrote.

Apollo looks to me, “you write and draw?” He looks to a small display case on my dresser. He lifts it up asking, “what is this?” I grab it away from him quickly and hug the case.

I quickly dash to explain my actions, “these…these here are the last of my perfect angel act. Or…one of these is; the rest are a bit of me that I hold on to.” There were eight medals in the case. One large and pretty one, then seven smaller ones that were different, yet looked meaningful. “The one on the left, the largest one. That is the medal for second place at my school’s geography bee. When I was in the fourth grade. Couldn’t beat first. They went to state. Same thing in fifth grade, only I was sick the day they did ‘try-outs’ so to say. Didn’t get in” Or that’s what I’d let be said about it. “Also I chose not to participate in sixth grade. Thought I was too…not me.” I look to the seven others. I smile at them. Oh were they special. “These are my band medals. For my Clarinet performances. These things right here I love and I will never EVER let anything happen to. I am not the best one in my band either. I’m average. I’m better than some, most, but I’m not the top player. I love it.”

Apollo sighs again, “fishy artist with a hard slap who can write beautifully and play clarinet…wait how did you fail geography?”

My feet come into sight again, “when I was younger, I was hated by most and always wanted to be the best. Well, now people hate me for aspiring, and are much smarter than me. My knowledge goes unrecognized as like much else of my work. That leaves the hatred. And I don’t wanna be perfect. I don’t wanna be a perfect child. Since I can’t be them. I’ve been this good girl but I’m not her. I don’t wanna be her. She’s not me.” I pick up another notebook, “I can sing, but I hate my voice. I can write songs but my lyrics make me heave. I can write stories but they make me cry. I can draw but I’m only left with empty pages with squiggles on them. I can play clarinet. And I’m perfectly normal. Nobody looks at me differently. It’s like I belong.”

My door is pushed open by Apollo, “you know, you should do what you wanna do. That’s what your story quote said. That’s what Maxiean said. Do what you wanna do. No matter if people judge you or not. They’re gonna judge you unless you were them.”

I look at him, “you understand my writing?”

He nods, “handlers can always understand angel’s writings.”

“Angel? I am NOT an angel and what did you just call yourself?! Handler?!”

Apollo slowly nods his head again to my answer, “yes. You are a fallen angel’s feather and I am your handler now.”

I shake my head, “no no no no nonsense. That doesn’t make any sense! Feathers aren’t people and pets. I’m not a dog! I know there’s something up with you. And I’m gonna find out!” I stub my toe on the footboard to my bed and fall on Apollo. He catches me gracefully, as if catching people was a hobby and a habit. He did it with grace. And I have no grace in me whatsoever. Anyone who has ever met me knows that.

Apollo falls back onto the door and we’re in an awkward position. I scream and jump away onto my bed, holding my stubbed toe in one hand, a pillow in the other. “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met! And you don’t even apologize!” I stomp out as hard as I could with a stubbed toe. As if it weren’t throbbing in pain.

Then I realize, I just stomped out of my room. I go into the kitchen and eat more fudge. Seems reasonable. I don’t know why I ate the weird probably expired fudge. I seem to eat strange things…