• [Chapter 1]

    I hear it loud and clear like a whistle. I know it's just in my head, but I can't help it.

    I hear it.

    Every time the buzzing even comes in contact with my lobes; tickling and tantalizing the drum of my ear which is knowingly waiting to be seduced- I can't help but feel the energy that courses through my brain. Like bursts of power, the buzzing becomes louder and whispers white noise, like a bee close to your surroundings. The darkness swarms the sky and my eyes become in-sync with my ears and I try and connect my taste to it by licking my lips, in hopes that the sight and sound could kiss me. And then it rings.

    "Hello?" I always answer.
    "How are you?" He always replies
    Do you know who I am?" He follows up without me answering
    "Yes"
    "Good. It's that time again."
    The ominous buzzing becomes ever so loud.
    Can you hear me?"
    "Yes"
    "Good. We can start." The voice is so familiar because I know who it is. But I'm always surprised to hear it.
    Tonight is most definitely the night. Tonight is the night you die, unless you listen closely. Are you listening?"
    "Yes." Get the pattern?
    "San Antigua, School district, bloody walls. Do you understand?"
    "Yes"
    "I know you don't, so listen for the song. It's a favorite among things" He knows me too well.
    "Yes" I know him too well.
    "I'd wish you luck, but we don't believe in that. So just stay alive. For us, okay?" I knew he'd say that. He does every time. And with that he ends the conversation. The buzzing fades away, and sky becomes clear and I finally get a grasp of other words.
    Bloody walls and favorite among things I repeated to myself. I'll never have to worry about getting there, because I always get there some how. Usually if I follow the black skies it will take me to my destination. I never had a use for a GIPHT so I don't have one to guide me like a GPS. All I had was the false hope of luck, in which I don't believe in. He already said that though.

    Favorite among things.

    An angel. I'm looking for an angel. The gods favor angels, who are like prodigal children in their little playing fields of life. I don't believe in those either. I don't believe in much nowadays. What I do believe in, is so skewed, you'd think I'm crazy. But you should have figured out I am a long time ago. Self-prescribed of course. I let my feet do the the walking and my mouth do the talking. I don't care where they go or what they say, but it always takes me to where I want. I guess I'm lucky like that.

    The buzzing is getting closer now, as I move my feet through the dull gray roads of San Antigua. I've never known any other color here. Or at least not for the last 5 years. I speak the words like a prayer to myself, the mouth- it's own life.
    Bloody walls and favorite among things
    Bloody walls. Bloody walls. Bloody walls. Wooden balls. Stress balls. Stress. Entanglement. Shackles. Prison     . I'm looking for a prison. A prison in the school district will always be a school. An angel in a school. Must be catholic. Catholicism loves angels, according to my neighbor Mrs. Ricardo, who has a patron saint for everything. The only catholic school which hasn't been destroyed is St. Peter's elementary. And I'm there.

    I'm at the gates now, which swing wide and tall as if to scare me off. Didn't work. I walk down the decrepit path, the vines ensnaring the concrete like two lovers. All the windows are shattered and the school still manages to keep the dull-gray theme of San Antigua, even with handprints of children painted on the walls. It stood about two stories higher than the ground and watched me as I entered. It's broken windows, like sorrowful eyes, cried pieces of glass every now and then, breaking the silence. I could see my breath but I couldn't feel the wind. Can angels do that? Can they make you see your soul escape your body with each breath? If you believe in souls.
    I'm in the school now. Is this where I was supposed to go? It's so empty. I check each room, one identical to the next. Blackboard, desks, coat rack, bones. The bones of children. It's the first time I've seen the bones of a child. I expected them to be smaller. I got used to them after the first few rooms. I can't, however, get used to the dry dusty air. My throat is gasping for water and I try not to breath in too much. The dust is that of nuclear demons. If you believe in demons. You can't not believe in nukes though. So I hold my breath as much as possible. I go up the stairs.
    I'm on the second floor. The halls seem to all point to one door. The only door with a cross above. Jesus seems to have the same look as the building. Except he's crying tears of joy. If you believe in that. And as I open the door; this majestic last door, I see nothing. I hold my chest in hopes that my heart doesn't explode. Again, nothing.
    Im now in the room of nothing. Only a linoleum-like floor with a large window stare at me, as I to them. Maybe it's in the window. So I look across it. I see San Antigua as it is- dull gray.

    Is that the angel? It must be. Because I don't believe in San Antigua.