Angels
The numberplate on the rear of the car just in front of me read; JF 4972. Hmmm, 9 take 7 is two and there are four numbers on the numberplate. Easy.
Ugh! What was I doing?! Pay attention to the road, pay attention to the road.
Some call it a gift, some call it a talent. I simply call it an annoying pain. Having an uncanny way for playing with numbers is not ideal when you're a sixteen-year-old girl learning to drive.
The sky was over-cast. One of those days where the clouds look like a farmers field just after he has sewn new seedlings into the soil. The early-morning sun peeped through the wispy strips of clouds and shone a soft yellow onto the ground in front of me. I kicked a pebble with my foot. It rolled and span, over and over until it went of the path and came to a stop on the front lawn.
I stared at it for a while.
What a pretty little pebble. It was from the gravel on our driveway and was an emerald sort of green- kind of like my eyes.
I'm not what most people call a pretty person. I have eccentric green eyes, chocolate brown hair that is quite long and naturally wavy with a fringe cropped straight across my forehead. Most people I meet tell me that I'm pretty, but I don't believe them. You see, if my skin were free from my least favourite feature, I think I could be beautiful. Freckles cover my face. Just light brown speckles, mostly over the bridge of my nose, a little way along my cheekbones and on my forehead. If I didn't have freckles, I think I could make myself pretty. But I do have them. So I don't bother doing what most girls my age do to make themselves look nice- makeup and fancy hair styles hold no place in my life.