South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|Pringles|

A few hours later, I arrive back at my apartment. It's not luxurious, but it is decorated in just my precise style. Out of any home decorator, I have perfected the "minimal chic" style. I'm not gonna say that I don't like the place, but since it's been my home for the past month, I've come to feel like it is home. It's mine. Even in the chaotic mess that is my work table, I can tell you where each, specific pen or notebook is, or where the drawing of the church square is under the stack of odd papers on the corner.

Father Adrian, the leader of our small band of not wanted orphans at Hope House, required us to attend mass ever Saturday. It's a thing I avoid if at all possible. When I came back a year ago, he acted happy to see me, but I know he was crying along with me. I thought I'd never have to see that place again, and that made me glad. A very long chapter put behind me. That was until my Mum died from lung cancer.

When I washed up on the beach in Brisbane, I couldn't remember anything except I landed on a ship during on of the worst shipwrecks in Australian history, possibly all my present family was dead, and someone named Alexandria wanted to kill me as well. Saying the name even today puts a shiver down my spine. A fisherman found me and it was said that they thought I was dead. At first I thought I was. I could barely move. My face hurt like it'd been burned with hell-fire and my hands were sore. The poor man rushed me to the hospital as fast as his calunking car could take him. I was stripped, and my face attended to. Everything was going normally except I hadn't woken up. I still had a heart beat, but there wasn't any signs of life. Then, a nurse decided to pull open my hand. I had been clutching something tightly in my fist, and when my fingers were pulled back, it was discovered to be a somewhat tarnished amulet. A swirled star on a white gold silver chain. The nurse called the hall nurse, who called the doctor, who called the security guard. All the staff were amazed at its beauty. The problem was when they decided to take it out of my hand. I jolted upwards so fast. It was a wonder I didn't break my neck. And next, I let loose a terrific, feral growl.

"It's mine," I snarled more animal than human, and they injected me with a knockout pen. From then on, I never let anyone touch the amulet, and it has never left my neck. It's a part of me. I slump into my apartment and make my way to the miniscule galley kitchen. Sliding down the wall next to my as equally minuscule fridge, I open the freezer section. Now understand this. I'm not the type of person who "lives in the moment". Nope, no carpe diem or #yolo would come even a zillion feet near me. Instead, I usually prefer to come home, grab a bucket of my favorite snack, and watch TMNT and Sex and the City reruns while crying my eyeballs out.

I slam the freezer door shut, holding the gelato in one hand, my spoon in the other. Sliding down the cool plastic surface of the frig, I angrily scrub at the hot, salty tears slipping down my cheeks, ruining the makeup I had dabbed on sparingly that morning. I bet I have raccoon eyes now. Awkwardly, I haul myself to my feet and walk into my room. My furniture is sparse. A twin bed with the paisley print coverlet my Mum and I made together last year. I slide to the floor at the edge of my bed, and stare at myself in my full length mirror. I think I'm not what you'd call beautiful. According to my Mum and her friends, I have a classic face that evokes images of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly. Actresses of the Golden Age of Black and White television. I know by the scandalous amount of comments I get when meeting new people that I look young. I'm seventeen, and they think I'm thirteen. I'm short for the 21st century teenager, since I'm five two. As soon as I hit high school that's when the teasing began. I'm awkward, clumsy, I laugh too loud, my mouth says the stupidest things, and over the past year of pain my flaws have only seemed to intensify.

I push down the collar of my worn out hoodie and tug at the necklace around my neck. It's cold and I shiver slightly. I'm prepared for that, but the thing I'm not prepared for is when the prickles like a million fire ants are biting my body rushes through my limbs as the clasp clicks shut. I scrabble at my neck. I start coughing as invisible hands press on my neck. The gelato and spoon hit the floor with a clunk and a clink. I try sucking in breath, but can't. A burning pain like I'm on fire rips through my back. I hit my knees. My head turns to the mirror and among the black dots swimming in my vision I see something. Writhing on the hardwood floor in agony, is a creature. Tall, slender, red hair floating like a halo of precious metal around her face, and the wings. Don't even get me started on the wings. Sprouting from her back is two white wings like a birds, like an angels, and their beating frantically in time. In time with my heartbeat. Then, that's when I know that creature is me. Finally, I get enough air to scream.

"STOP!"

Just like a simple snap of the fingers, the pain is gone. I pull myself up the side of my bed leaning my head back against the soft comforter. My heartbeat slows. I look in the mirror, and find an absurdly young looking, short, below average girl staring back at me. She's got a face that evokes images of celebrities from old times past. She's nothing special. She'll never be. And I drag myself to my bed, and then, I pass out.