Angela

Prologue

Who am I. Really. Will I ever truly find out. Lights flash behind my eyes. My name is Angela, a silent voice whispers to the wind, the only thing there to watch me die.My name is Angela and I am not afraid to end my life. The voice was there when I rose, and it was there when I fell. I remember it whispering to me as I secured the rope that would become the bond that destroyed me. That destroyed my life. And then I coiled it thrice around my neck, and embraced my death with my two loving arms...

My name is Angela, I am sixteen, that's all I can remember anymore. My feet crunch upon the pieces of glass that threaten to cut me every time I walk home. It is a cold afternoon, the sky the colour of the sallowest sunset. I try to sip the tepid cocoa a teacher at school gave me out of pure pity, that's the only reason I ever get anything anymore, but the cold pottery clanks against my teeth. I am shaking, though the day is warm and misty, I cannot stomach anything, not tonight.

Tonight is remembrance night, even thinking about the mere existence of it sets off fireworks inside my brain. Today the parish Church will resurface memories of her, of my mum. I don't want to go. I can't go. Every year they go to her grave to say a load of holy stuff they don't actually mean, my mum was the town crazy. Not that she really was, it was just nobody believed in fate or fortune telling like my mum. Maybe she had always known she was going to die. I become conscious that I am curled in a ball on the glass covered concrete, I must look like I am on the brink of a mental breakdown. I try to stand up, cool and composed for the sake of those watching, but still the disorientation flares my eyes like dark fire, eating me up. My mum was the only one who wanted me.

My house is not a house, my flat is not really my flat. It's all my mum's, you can still see the shark teeth and wax- dipped cloth decorating the walls even now, all faded away. My only memory of her.