Light Angel

Chapter I: Friends and Family

London, England

Naomi McKelsey

30 Years Later After Dark Angel (2052)

For years, my friends have known that I was born and raised in an awkward family, but they are lucky to have never to prepare for the chaos in my life.

My mother is an extremely devoted Christian while my dad is a priest at a local cathedral, Westminster Abbey. Mom never leaves the house unless it is for Sunday sermons. She orders me to wear a cross necklace. She even has a prayer room full of shines, religious decorations, and a bible that she comes in every night. Sometimes I see her rush in there with panic all over her face.

I asked dad about it and he said that mother went through a very hard time when she was little, especially when it came to abuse. A deadly car crash made her lose three fingers and left her arm disfigured. He doesn't know why she does all of this, but he assumes that what she has gone through is a punishment from the lord. He isn't convinced and neither am I, but mother doesn't spit out the answer. She will probably reveal the truth to us later.

We live in an old stoned two-story house. I still don't understand how it's not haunted. Maybe my father blessed the house before they moved in together and had me? That's only my best guess.

I attend the Free West London School. As many students there are, I only got three friends: George, Blathnaid, and Megan. George is one of the top ten students in our class of 2052. We are in Year 11, the final year before college- compulsory school. He has long brown hair with hazel eyes. His hair is combed and put back into a ponytail. Mother doesn't let him in on our property for some odd reason. She freaks out and demands him to leave; therefore, I come over to his house. Once I get home, my mother does a cleansing on me. The crucifix, a prayer to rid evil spirits inside of me, and holy water. I always have to remind her that George is just a friend and he is not an evil person.

She once looked at me, dead in the eye, and said, "You never know who is the devil in disguise." I rolled my eyes because George isn't a devil. I find it weird, but try to chalk it up as the person that abused her or the nutball driver.

I sometimes wonder what she would say if I joked about George being my boyfriend.

Megan is like George. She has exemplary grades, but she is more outgoing and popular. She has long blonde hair with blue eyes and she wears eye contacts. She always dresses for success or a professional interview. She is the stereotypical girl that everyone considers as the "golden child" or what their parents dream of them to be. The sad part is that she is not totally perfect. There are some days that she has this attitude, never thinking before she speaks. She never apologizes, thinking that everyone would soon forget. It made people wary of her when she came across them.

"Why are you bald, Hoolo," she asked a girl named Holly. The way Megan said it sounded prejudiced, rather than curious. If it was curiosity, she said it in the wrong tone. Holly was the new girl that moved here last year. Megan gave her a tour and those two connected. She has bronze skin and black hair. Holly was the only one that was allowed to wear hats at school. After Christmas break, her hair was completely gone.

"My hair made it worse," Holly replied, still trying to be nice, "It's from a condition."

"What condition?" Megan asked. Her voice still carried prejudice. It doesn't feel hateful, but rather scrutiny of a novel critic. No, worse, like a bully questioning what the heck are you wearing.

"I have a condition that causes itchiness, rashes, and hair loss, so I shaved it," Holly explained.

"What is it though?"

"Megan, chill," I intruded, slightly offended.

"No, you chill, I was just asking her a question," she snapped back.

"Rude-off," I mumbled.

She didn't hear me.

"So, tell me, Holly, what is your condition?" She resumed.

"Psoriasis."

"Is that the reason why you wear a hat, so you don't look like a kid cut your hair or a shaved cat?"

I rolled my eyes. Holly was becoming timider. She just nodded her head and walked away. Their friendship was perturbed that day. That was the same day that I gave her a nickname, Rude-off. Rude-off will only appear once her crappy attitude shines red again.

Blathnaid is a quiet and reserved kind of girl. Her curly hair is long and black with a hint of dark blue. I can't decide if it's dyed blue hair or if it's natural. It never changes. Her eyes are grey. In class, she is a quiet kid with a brooding vibe. She is so quiet that the teachers barely call on her. I am convinced enough that she made herself invisible. She is down at the bottom of the social chain. No one acknowledges her existence, except George, Megan, and I. Mostly, myself. She has nothing to be guilty about. Her grades are also phenomenal. School is a survival game for her. She enters, learns, and gets the heck out of there.

At home, she is different. She is talkative and creative. She does art and poetry, both on the computer and on paper. Her mind and soul speak volumes every time she writes or I am easily impressed by everything she does. Blathnaid told me that she is also Wiccan. I don't care what she believes in, but I don't tell my parents that. They will make me stay away from her. She talks about her feelings with me as if she feels comfortable around me. Megan and George don't chat with her as much, so they are getting a different treatment.

"Your art always looks better than mine," I remarked astonishingly while checking out the painting she made on her desk. Her desk was mildly stained with paint. It was for the final in art class two years ago. The topic was nature. Mr. Skisti was very lenient about it. It can be anything from a flower to a lively landscape. It was a woman running in the wild forest with tigers. It looked realistic. She looked like she had been doing this for years. For my final, I only drew a rose with a blendable pencil and markings. My hands looked like a rainbow threw up on them. She put my final to shame. I should probably ask her for help one of these days.

"I use art references when it comes to poses. Mostly me taking pictures of myself or using an art-posing studio on my phone. For the clothes, I have to look up for inspiration. It's much easier to draw them nude."

"Have you ever thought about exposing your work to the public?"

"I'm waiting until I graduate."

"Secondary school or college?"

"Perhaps, secondary," she shrugged.

"Girl, it's never too early to start now."

"Will see, Nao."

All I need for my friend group is someone with red hair and someone with dark-colored skin. Sadly, they are rare gems at school or just rare for me. There are only a couple of them and they have their own friend groups. If we were in America, students would label us Jesus Freak (Me), Hippie (George), Weirdo (Blathnaid), the Princess (Megan), the Soulless Ginger, and possibly some racist derogatory names that I despise saying. Mom did say that she used to live in America until her late twenties. Mom doesn't tell me about her past very much other than she grew up in an orphanage. I asked why and she vaguely answered. She did tell me her maiden name was Alicia Ray Mason. Since she got married to my dad, her last name changed to McKelsey. My name is Naomi Lorraine McKelsey.