First blackness then falls, that what I always see or try not to see.
I am Annabelle a sympathy orphan.
.I am always there whenever the world is turning black. Trust me I never choose to be there. I am the girl who girls avoid, because I am not like teenagers my age. I am not sure if people can see me but I am sure most of them loath me. They hate me. Believe me I am not so bad Just don’t ask me to be happy, happiness has never wanted to befriend me. People hate me because I am more serious than I should be, a purposeful teenager is something they think is not good. They fancy those cheerful and happy ones those arrogant who only live to show-off. But that is not what I seek. I am only trapped in my own bubble. I am happy there, safe and alone. Believe me I can be as engaging as ever, but I am not easily attracted by others. I can be cheerful, I promise, but not with silly people. Those fashioned teenagers. Those freak boys. And especially those hysterical girls. No, I believe I am different of them. I can be entirely perfect with elders with people who can understand me. But never expect me to be a girl with friends in school or the girl who people want to be with her. No, that won’t happen. But I don’t if I love it that way or not.
I am Just an orphan, my only friend is my book!
One day, when the sky was as dark as I can remember. There I saw more than I can imagine. What gets into me is, it’s the good people who dies first.
That day has changed my whole life
I was with my mother, at the station of Germany travelling back to England. Our save country. Everything was red, the sky was black, there were bombs everywhere. People were thrown onto the ground, thorn like filth, blood was splattered everywhere, matching the darkness of the sky. Black, red and death. People were weeping, crying and sobbing. Clutching their hands out of the explosions. Clinging for dear life. I don’t know how people minds work out. But what I really know is, they really adore life. I saw people dying, most of them used to be good. I am sure they were seeing death by the pair of their eyes, fearing death. I don’t know how frighten they were, because I have never tried. I am sure at that moment, when death is going to drag my soul into his own arms, taking me upwards, towards the sky, I am going to greet him as an old missed friend. No fear. No hatred. That is my destiny as well as everyone else. But no one seems to realize that death is only a painful truth while life is a beautiful lie.
No one really believes the truth or at least they don’t want to believe it.
They hated death. Hatred exceedingly than any other thing in their beloved life.
I saw death dragging those souls cold as ever in his arms to the dark sky, away of blood away of the weeping and crying, away of everything. Away of their old lives.
I couldn’t stand anymore, the whole scene made me want to escape. Run away.
I left my mother’s warm hand and ran away into a hiding. She called after me, but my intuitive was cheering for me, running with her sneakers on. I seized my chance and ran as far as I could. Until it was all quiet and hard to distinguish any of the noise I left behind. I settled myself under a tree and took out my navy-blue book of my bag: It was a gift from my father when I was two-years-old, I always wanted to write and catch the pen the right way. He always said that one day I will be a famous writer and he will be so proud. But I knew nothing about him after he gave me this book, for he was lost in the British forces war. This is piece of him gives me comfort when I am scared, a piece of my father. It’s like a promise, an old one, and maybe a broken promise as well.
I stayed under the tree and hugged the book for what seemed like hours, trying to forget about the whole fiasco on the platform. I made my way back to the platform. Whoever was bombing has stopped. Everyone left, leaving the dead bodies behind. I was worried because my mother has certainly escaped with the others. I moved between the dead and half-burned bodies lying innocently on the ground. Everything was grey. There was a young child with lemon hair and Icy blue eyes. There was a girl my age, her eyes were wide open her face was a mixture of blood and black burned skin, she really didn’t deserve to die the way she has died. Beside her was a woman my mother age I felt happy my mother has left away. I looked at the next victim and to my horror, I fall onto my knees, my muscles and nerves went numb and a lump rose into my throat. Everything has dissolved, my heart started pounding as hard as ever it was going to escape the cage of my ribs. My mother lying innocently and awkwardly on the ground, her emerald green eyes empty and blank. Her hand was ripped away of the rest of her body, I couldn’t resist myself, I started shaking her madly and stupidly. She has died, there was no way denying it. I should’ve stayed beside her. Could I ever forgive myself, could I ever forget this scene?
But what on earth has she done to die that day? My mother, the mother of a daughter and a son. What has she done to die that way? Or was it a theory test, a test to an innocent girl and an innocent boy to live with a missed father and dead mother? What was next? Could I properly lose anything else? Or Was there anything else to lose, after the loss of the most precious thing in life? The loss of a parent? What if it was Albus next, could I possibly live…
I started sobbing uncontrollably on the rest of my mother’s body
" Take me instead, please.” I said sobbing. ” Take me. She doesn’t deserve this. Please Albus is waiting. Make her wake up.
Albus. My brother.
Yes, I love him. How could I possibly go back to him alone breaking to him this heart failing news? Could he possibly still love his sister? Would he hate me, for coming back alive and leaving his mother behind? No, he wouldn’t. He is one of the courageous men, I know. But no man could be totally tactless. Every human has feelings no matter they would hide. Last time I saw my brother was two years ago, he was sixteen. He should be eighteen by now. He is living in our old house in England. Mom and I travelled to Germany and stayed there for two years. I didn’t want to go and leave Albus alone, but he insisted that I go with mom. Mom was an artist and worked there while I studied German. I was too sad that Albus couldn’t come.
When mom died I had to go back to England alone. It was not really hard because I had my ticket in my bag.
I waited for the right ship which takes to England and left. When I arrived there I couldn’t remember exactly where we used to live apart of Norwich. I started wandering and asking about the address of Albus Digger. When I finally found the address, I went there and knocked on the front door. Albus opened the door, I fall into his arms. And there my orphaned story begins.