Rebecca Miller was a normal little girl until her fourth birthday. She was a pretty little thing, caught in the lovely glow of being a young child, where everyone is beautiful, but you could tell that she would become a gorgeous young woman. She had a halo of light brown curls that hung loosely around her face. Her skin was a rarely found colour, pale but with a beautiful honey colour. There was a splash of freckles on her button nose and her expressive hazel eyes seemed to either read into your soul or to see something not quite there. She had a smile with plump, cherry lips that would light up a room like a sun would. Rebecca was very happy and chatty and bright. She said her first word at six months, and was a chatter box within a year. At the age of two she could read and draw very well. She showed much talent and everyone believed that she would one day grow up to do great things, like all parents do, but she was already showing signs of the greatness that would surely proceed her. She was kind and loving, always helping. She always had a kind word to say to everyone in a voice as sweet as sugar. Rebecca rarely misbehaved. The world loved Rebecca Miller, the perfect little girl who had had the world in her chubby pink palm. But this all changed on her fourth birthday.
Rebecca’s mother, Liane, bustled around the house preparing for the party that would start in the evening, several hours away. She reattached the streamers where they had fallen off the walls. She finished tying balloons around the room; she finished setting out the 13 lime green plastic party cups, plates and cutlery. Rebecca sat quietly on the paisley rug watching her mother. A bee, Rebecca thought. My mother is a beautiful bee, buzzing around to help me, her queen bee. Rebecca’s mother had begun to vacuum.
Rebecca’s mother felt the gaze of her daughter on her back. She turned off the vacuum and turned to her little girl.
“Would you like any help, mummy?” Rebecca asked thoughtfully.
“No thanks, Ree. Why don’t you play with your doll?” Rebecca’s mother sighed. She was almost finished anyways.
“I am lonely.” Rebecca said, always one to speak her mind. Her eyes bored into her mother’s, awaiting a response.
Liane rubbed the space between her eyes. She just wanted to rest now, but it was her daughter’s birthday. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I just want company.” Rebecca replied. “Ask me a question.”
“Okay. What are you hoping to get for your birthday?” Liane already knew the answer. Ever since she read My Guardian Angel, a story about a girl and her angel, which was fictional, Rebecca would ask for an angel.
“An angel.” Rebecca replied evenly.
“Rebecca sweetie,” Her mother coaxed. “Why not a doll or a princess dress up kit or even a puppy? You know I can’t give you an angel.”
“I want an angel. My mind is set. I have dolls and princess kits and playhouses and even a puppy. I don’t have an angel. I have everything I need; all I want is an angel.” Rebecca was wise beyond her years. She knew she had all she needed, but she didn’t seem to be able to grasp that her mother couldn’t get her an angel.
Liane noticed Rebecca wasn’t looking at her. Rebecca was staring at a corner in the room, right beside the couch.
“Ree, what are you staring at?” Liane asked, surprised.
YOU ARE READING
Angel: A Short StoryHorror
PLEASE VOTE (WATTY AWARDS 2011) “I want an angel. My mind is set. I have dolls and princess kits and playhouses and even a puppy. I don’t have an angel. I have everything I need; all I want is an angel.” Rebecca was wise beyond her years. She knew...