Angelic: The Extra Episodes

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The Past (Part 4)

Mike departed to his office in the studio. He logged into his computer and started researching the latest news headlines that would be of utmost concern at the moment. Everything regarding world meetings or perhaps the bombings of countries. The economic rises and declines of certain countries and the detrimental effects to the EU, the AU, the Arab League, and even the UN as a whole. Mike wrote down what he felt was worthy of note.

In the middle of doing so, his phone rang. It was his mother. Mike was shocked.

Answering, “Hello?”

“Hi son,” she said.

“Mom, why are you calling? I’m at work.” He wasn’t really doing his work though.

“Oh sorry. I just wanted to know if you wanted to see each other some time. Maybe grab a coffee?”

“Oh...” Mike glanced blankly at his computer screen and at the random array of notes he had written. He wiped everything away. “Actually yeah, sure, that’d be nice. This afternoon?”

“If it isn’t any trouble.”

“’Course not.”

“Okay, see you soon, Michael.”

At one of the cafes in Roxborough, Mike met up with her for some chatter.

“This was a little sudden, you know,” Mike mentioned, as they received their identical orders of coffee with croissants. Like mother, like son.

“I just wanted to see you for a bit. Check on how things are going?” his mother said.

“Oh, things are fine. iHeart’s been a real blessing to me, y’know?”

“I’ll never forget the day you got accepted there. You so were excited, I’ve never forget that face,” she smiled.

“It was a good day, yeah,” Mike didn’t really feel like making a big deal out if it. Then again, he had been taking a trip down memory lane all day long. His daydreaming was interrupted by his mother’s eerie coughing.

“I always thought you’d go into contracting, full-time,” his mother speculated, drinking her coffee. “When I heard you had such a big interest in recording studios, I was a little astonished.”

“Yeah well, my interests are my interests,” Mike didn’t bother with emotional stuff. He just dug into his croissant.

“I saw Amanda the other day.”

Mike stopped all motion and just looked up at his mother, then batted his eyes away immediately as if to show he had no interest. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“I’ll never understand what happened between you two.”

“Still doesn’t matter to me.”

“You two were a ripe fit...”


Later in senior year, after everyone was committed, all that was left was our graduation. between that, I found out Amanda cheated on me with several other dudes while we were still going steady. I fell into an extremely depressive episode after that. Amanda and I got into a fierce argument that didn’t just question our relationship, but our beliefs as people. I never told anyone that Amanda cheated, I simply just told everyone that I broke it off, but most had deducted that I was indeed cheated on.

It was pretty bitter for me the next year studying at a school I didn’t truly want and working two jobs, but I got through, and eventually got into iHeart Media and iHeart Radio and that brought my heart and soul back into everything.


Men followed me naturally. I had a way about me that attracted these men of will, and my abilities as an orator weren’t all that bad. I was able to get people to listen to me.

My associates approached me one day, saying a certain man wished to approached me when we were still situated in my Maryland office.

A man who was about my age stepped in, with black locks of hair behind both of his ears and wore a trench coat. A couple other associates remained in the room when he came in and made themselves comfortable on the couches on each side.

“You are?” I begged the question.

“Jordan Kelly. I’m a rabbi at a synagogue in town,” the man answered.

“Oh, were you the one who I spit in their Matzo ball soup?”

“What? No, I...A member of my service mentioned something about an ‘ungodly’ man in this town trying to take down the government.”

“Could’ve left a message on my answering machine and I would’ve gotten back to you, apologizing, saying such a man does not exist here.”

“Stop lying to me. I’ve been living in this county for 30 years and I know a former representative worked here and rented you this office. I know Maryland is ridden with people who hate Congress. I know there’s been people around here wearing these masks,” he held up a Fawkes mask which he pulled from underneath his coat. “And I know that you’re behind this,” he placed the mask on the desk. I eyed the man carefully, trying to win in a battle of gazes, but I found myself at the losing end. Kelly had a fierce look in his eyes which fascinated me.

“So you walk into my office, into the lions’ den, to accuse me? What have you to gain? Call the police on us if you want, but we’ll disappear faster than you can dial-”

“No. To join you. I hate the United States government, and you’re the first person I’ve heard of to ever rationally propose a new revolution,” Mr. Kelly smiled.

I was amazed by his intentions, and shook his hand, welcoming him to my collection of revolutionary delegates. Slowly, my group was morphing into the real deal.


Patrick raped me. Over the years I spent with those men in that house, Patrick gradually took a liking to me as I passed from 15 to 16 to 17, and would sexually harass me daily in his bedroom or even in the living room.

I stopped crying after a certain point, like all my tears dried out.

In the 4 years I spent with them, there’s only thing they gave to me out of kindness, and that was my signature dress. They didn’t tell me where they got it from, but it was a Dutch dress with a band wrapped around it.

Grandpa told me about an inscription that was written inside of the dress I wore the day he found me. He said he had never seen that language before in his life, something he couldn’t understand.

I could understand it. The inscription read ”God sent me" in the language of Enochian. So I had it stitched onto the inside of the dress, as the only memento of Grandpa I had left. That, and a bible.


I went to a service camp called Camp Neidig.

It was a four-day leadership camp. I met incredible people and worked in stations that practiced our leadership skills and problem-solving prowess.

A service was held during the 3rd day of the camp. I even got to share my testimony about Guatemala while in front of a filled room of teenagers like me still trying to find their place in the world. I remember my fellow team members cheering me on when I stepped to the podium.

“It was an incredible experience that I’ll always remember,” I began. “And, I think it’s awesome how just normal guys like us could step up and the barriers between us and the Guatemalans we worked with, like language or lifestyle, could be shattered so easily, because of the faith I had. That’s how I grew closer. And I think others can too if they have that kind of faith in themselves.” I capped off my speech there, and got an applause from the crowd. Several other students did the same, stepping up and down from the stage podium and sharing their stories of faith with everyone clapping. It was such an open environment.

“Remember your glitter” were the words from our camp leader, named Teresa (we called her Mother Teresa as a joke) and she opened up her heart on how she had been strong for too long, but we should never be ashamed of the things that we’ve been through, as they make us strong, and make us who we are. After that...soon everyone in our group, one-by-one, starting sharing the struggles they went through, many of them crying. I put my arm over the girl next to me, who was struggling silently for a while. She would later win the “camper of the year” award at the ceremony that ended the camping trip. Our tribe cheered so loud.

Princess, Anthony, and I finally ended up finding some good props to use as sleds for our Philly adventure in the snow!

I invited the kid who had still been waiting on his drunk uncle who I was convinced wasn't coming back for a while now. He seemed happier being with us and seeing that we were more like hyper-energetic goofballs than we were stern adults.

Stepping up along the front forum area of the museum, we each arched our heads down to meet the heads of those at the bottom, staring up at us as we were about to ride. Confidently, we stared into the open plain and embraced the view of Philadelphia from those steps, from the fountain and splitting expressways to the silhouette of City Hall in the distance.

Hopping atop our respective props, we prepared for the most brutal and ghetto of sleigh rides. Off we rode!

The descent was extremely bumpy to an extent I’ve never experienced, as oft throughout the ride I found myself nearly falling off and detaching from the boards, nearly diving straight into the snowy steps. I nearly lost balance several times, and eventually starting traveling off course from a straight line into a diagonal turnaround heading right for Princess.

Worried, I tried to maneuver the trajectory of the sled overtop Princess so that I could avoid hitting her altogether, so by timing it just right, I lifted the sleigh up swiftly, passing over Princess as she rode down the steep steps like a maniac and crossed the very bottom of the sidewalk that was now turned snowbank. Successfully, I passed by Princess without colliding, but now I was on a collision course for the side of the stairway, which I could not jump over, and ended up crashing.

Anthony followed suit after Princess and both made it to the bottom relatively unharmed. They laughed and cheered, meanwhile everybody took pictures of the celebs being hooligans.

I emerged from the wreckage of my board, a little wobbly, and somehow made my way down the steps, definitely not as smoothly as I had hoped. Occasionally slippin over the ice. The kid from earlier helped me stabilize my feet. I thanked him, then rushed over to Princess and Anthony.

“Well?” I asked, wondering if Princess’s dream was fulfilling enough.

“Let’s do it again!” Princess said, ever-so-child-like.

“Heh,” all I could do was chuckle.

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