A/N: this chapter is half flashback half in the present. It begins with
flashback (and reviews are always nice. They make my day and they make the
rivers flow)
Also, thanks to Angel of the First Degree for reviewing the first chapter, I really liked your story. If anyone wants a really good story about Angel's past try "Today 4 U: Proof Positive" (that is ANOTHER really good one (I hope this is good.))
Chapter Three
ANGEL
I watched Sara as she sat by the dock watching the river. This early it was always beautiful, mist rose off the water, dyed peach by the early morning sun that glinted gold off the water and glowed on the thick legs of the under pass. It was magical, like a fairy tale. New York has as many faces as God.
"G'morning, mi amiga. How went the night?" I purred in her ear. I knew she was past being surprised when I snuck up on her like that. I'd known her so long she could usually gauge when to expect it.
"As good as it could get. You?"
"Fine as fine can be, pet."
I inspected her, like me she was dressed to kill. Short black skirt, knee length boots, red tank. "What are you thinking, querida?" she asked after a moment.
I yawned and shrugged, "I think working the nine to five shift is not for me. Do you think I'd do as good a trade in the day?"
Sara snorted. "When pigs fly and the Pigs die, we will work day jobs. It's better than nine to five in la factoria, no?"
I shrugged again, Sara might like turning tricks each night but I wasn't too fond of it. Usually though, I was too out of it to know completely and totally what was going on. A couple chases and I was good to go. Ooooh, that magic smoke dragon..
"Tell me a story, Sara." I said suddenly.
Sara smiled, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She handed me one and lit for both of us. We stood there, looking out over the fog that was rapidly burning off and puffed quietly for a while. Half way through her cigarette, Sara began to speak;
"Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away-"
"Sara! Be serious."
"Oh, Angel, I've been up all night. It's too early. No stories right now, por favor."
"Fine," I sighed, breathing out a lungfull of smoke, "Later?"
"Later I promise."
"Hey! Are those my girls?!" called Sids, his voice only slightly muffled by the quickly dissipating fog. I grinned as he came loping towards us, his shirt open as usual. His hair, which I'd just done in neon green slapped my tired eyes. It was the color of frog vomit.
Sids threw an arm around each of us and leaned lightly against our shoulders. He kissed me on the mouth for a full minute before pecking Sara on the cheek.
"Eugh! Girl cooties!" he teased
I giggled and slapped his arm. I really did love these two.
"Let's go to the old Piss six six six today." Said Sids suddenly.
"Eh? Why?"
"Because we need an education. We are the youth of this grand nation. We are the future. We must educate little old selves." He said in a deep, authoritative voice. "'Sides, I've turned a nice number of tricks tonight and I don't want to spend my hard earned cash on no lunch. Piss gives you free lunch."
"Tastes like shit though. And it's so fatty. I need to watch my figure." I joked.
"Girl you skin and bones. I'm gonna force feed you some greasy public school hot dogs and mealy fries if I have to. Put some fat in you. Maybe then you can grow an ass."
Sara snorted and swatted him lightly with a manicured hand (my doing). "Shut-up, cretin. Don't be talking to Angel like that."
"Cretin? Man, I need a dictionary to talk to you! I need to be an educated man to speak to you! This is why we must go to school this morn', my girls. This is why we * must * get our education. So we can understand what fuck the fine Sara is sayin'."
And so it was that we three dragged our selves to PS66 that morning, when the air was thick as pudding and the light turned the city into gold. We dragged our worn out limbs through over the cracks and the leaves the color of heat, over the old dog shit and the broken beer bottles to the entrance to PS66, the New York Public High School version of America, that is, it was the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
* * * * * * * (A/N back to the present)
"how many dawns, chill from his rippling rest/the seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him/shedding white rings of tumult, building high/over the chained bay waters Liberty-"
I know that voice. Swimming up through a sea of pink mist and dreams of the past I can hear Collins reading to me. "Poem: To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane, who's name I've always loved.
"Then with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes/ as apparitional as sails that cross/some page of figures to be filed away:/--till elevators drop us from our day."
Oh, keep reading Collins. Your voice is beautiful. Keep reading so I know I'm not alone.
"Collins?"
He drops the book, I hear it thud on the floor and gasps, "Angel?" he grabs my hand, tight like a little kid.
"Hi."
His beautiful eyes fill with tears, "Hi, baby."
"Please, keep reading?"
He smiles, and begins again. "I think of cinemas, paranormic sleights/ with multitudes bend toward some flashing scene/ never disclosed, but hastened to again,/ foretold to other eyes on the same screen..I'm going to read something different."
I nod.
" 'Hope' is the thing with feathers-/that perches in the soul--/ and sings the tune without words--/and never stops-at all--/and sweetest-in the Gale- is heard--/and sore must be the storm--/that could abash the little Bird/That kept so many warm--/I've heard it in the chillest land--/and on the strangest Sea--/yet, never, in Extremity,/it asked a crumb-of Me."
"I love you Collins."
"I love you too, Angel."
* * * A/N: 'Hope' is the thing with feathers is by Emily Dickinson
.
Also, thanks to Angel of the First Degree for reviewing the first chapter, I really liked your story. If anyone wants a really good story about Angel's past try "Today 4 U: Proof Positive" (that is ANOTHER really good one (I hope this is good.))
Chapter Three
ANGEL
I watched Sara as she sat by the dock watching the river. This early it was always beautiful, mist rose off the water, dyed peach by the early morning sun that glinted gold off the water and glowed on the thick legs of the under pass. It was magical, like a fairy tale. New York has as many faces as God.
"G'morning, mi amiga. How went the night?" I purred in her ear. I knew she was past being surprised when I snuck up on her like that. I'd known her so long she could usually gauge when to expect it.
"As good as it could get. You?"
"Fine as fine can be, pet."
I inspected her, like me she was dressed to kill. Short black skirt, knee length boots, red tank. "What are you thinking, querida?" she asked after a moment.
I yawned and shrugged, "I think working the nine to five shift is not for me. Do you think I'd do as good a trade in the day?"
Sara snorted. "When pigs fly and the Pigs die, we will work day jobs. It's better than nine to five in la factoria, no?"
I shrugged again, Sara might like turning tricks each night but I wasn't too fond of it. Usually though, I was too out of it to know completely and totally what was going on. A couple chases and I was good to go. Ooooh, that magic smoke dragon..
"Tell me a story, Sara." I said suddenly.
Sara smiled, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her purse. She handed me one and lit for both of us. We stood there, looking out over the fog that was rapidly burning off and puffed quietly for a while. Half way through her cigarette, Sara began to speak;
"Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away-"
"Sara! Be serious."
"Oh, Angel, I've been up all night. It's too early. No stories right now, por favor."
"Fine," I sighed, breathing out a lungfull of smoke, "Later?"
"Later I promise."
"Hey! Are those my girls?!" called Sids, his voice only slightly muffled by the quickly dissipating fog. I grinned as he came loping towards us, his shirt open as usual. His hair, which I'd just done in neon green slapped my tired eyes. It was the color of frog vomit.
Sids threw an arm around each of us and leaned lightly against our shoulders. He kissed me on the mouth for a full minute before pecking Sara on the cheek.
"Eugh! Girl cooties!" he teased
I giggled and slapped his arm. I really did love these two.
"Let's go to the old Piss six six six today." Said Sids suddenly.
"Eh? Why?"
"Because we need an education. We are the youth of this grand nation. We are the future. We must educate little old selves." He said in a deep, authoritative voice. "'Sides, I've turned a nice number of tricks tonight and I don't want to spend my hard earned cash on no lunch. Piss gives you free lunch."
"Tastes like shit though. And it's so fatty. I need to watch my figure." I joked.
"Girl you skin and bones. I'm gonna force feed you some greasy public school hot dogs and mealy fries if I have to. Put some fat in you. Maybe then you can grow an ass."
Sara snorted and swatted him lightly with a manicured hand (my doing). "Shut-up, cretin. Don't be talking to Angel like that."
"Cretin? Man, I need a dictionary to talk to you! I need to be an educated man to speak to you! This is why we must go to school this morn', my girls. This is why we * must * get our education. So we can understand what fuck the fine Sara is sayin'."
And so it was that we three dragged our selves to PS66 that morning, when the air was thick as pudding and the light turned the city into gold. We dragged our worn out limbs through over the cracks and the leaves the color of heat, over the old dog shit and the broken beer bottles to the entrance to PS66, the New York Public High School version of America, that is, it was the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
* * * * * * * (A/N back to the present)
"how many dawns, chill from his rippling rest/the seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him/shedding white rings of tumult, building high/over the chained bay waters Liberty-"
I know that voice. Swimming up through a sea of pink mist and dreams of the past I can hear Collins reading to me. "Poem: To Brooklyn Bridge" by Hart Crane, who's name I've always loved.
"Then with inviolate curve, forsake our eyes/ as apparitional as sails that cross/some page of figures to be filed away:/--till elevators drop us from our day."
Oh, keep reading Collins. Your voice is beautiful. Keep reading so I know I'm not alone.
"Collins?"
He drops the book, I hear it thud on the floor and gasps, "Angel?" he grabs my hand, tight like a little kid.
"Hi."
His beautiful eyes fill with tears, "Hi, baby."
"Please, keep reading?"
He smiles, and begins again. "I think of cinemas, paranormic sleights/ with multitudes bend toward some flashing scene/ never disclosed, but hastened to again,/ foretold to other eyes on the same screen..I'm going to read something different."
I nod.
" 'Hope' is the thing with feathers-/that perches in the soul--/ and sings the tune without words--/and never stops-at all--/and sweetest-in the Gale- is heard--/and sore must be the storm--/that could abash the little Bird/That kept so many warm--/I've heard it in the chillest land--/and on the strangest Sea--/yet, never, in Extremity,/it asked a crumb-of Me."
"I love you Collins."
"I love you too, Angel."
* * * A/N: 'Hope' is the thing with feathers is by Emily Dickinson
.