All Your Angels

Chapter One

Dallas

October 15, 2008

10 years before present day

I've heard people use a lot of words to describe me in the last 14 years of my life. For some reason, my distant relatives feel the need to point out something about me every time we see each other. This can range from the usual, "Look at you, you've gotten so tall," to a less normal "Your butt is bigger than mine!" After her 3rd glass of wine, my aunt Karla says the weirdest things.

The most popular comment that I hear is that I'm too quiet. I'm not sure why it bothers me when people tell me that. After all, it's a completely true observation. It's even worse when they call me shy. Really, it's just annoying when people tell me things about myself as if it's an undeniable fact. The same people never seem to really ask me anything to actually get to know me.

A lot of people don't know that I absolutely hate any variation of amusement parks. This includes carnivals, fairs, and most importantly, rodeos. I've never actually been to a rodeo, but I'd consider a mechanical bull just as ridiculous as a roller coaster.

Despite my hatred for these things, here I am standing in line for a ride called the "crazy cyclone" or something like that. It's at a local fair that happens every year in my hometown of Savannah, Georgia.

The only reason I decided to come was for my little sister, Lynn. She's only a year and a half younger than me, so we've always been close. She's standing next to me in line squealing from excitement. I don't understand the appeal of a spinning metal death trap, but I'm glad at least one of us is enjoying this.

"We're in the next group!" She squeaks, grabbing my arm while she jumps up and down. I pull my arm away from her tight grip and try to hide my displeasure of this entire experience. From the smell of fried pickles, which shouldn't even be legal, to the humidity of everyone standing so close together, I can't think of anything fun about this.

I watch the spinning metal death trap and impatiently wait to get this over with. It's only another minute until people are clearing off of the ride and someone is ushering us up a small, unstable, block of stairs. How do they manage to make even the stairs look unsafe?

On this ride, we're all directed to stand with our backs to a circular shaped wall. One of the ride's attendants walks around and carelessly checks our harnesses, which just consists of two flimsy straps and a plastic buckle to connect them.

Lynn is standing directly on my right, giggling to herself. Unfortunately, her laugh is contagious, so I find myself smiling before a voice comes over a loud speaker.

"Everyone must remain in their place until the ride is over. We will not be held liable if anyone doesn't follow these rules and sustains an injury as a result. Have fun, and thanks for coming out to our fall festival!"

Just as the person's voice goes quiet, the sound of metal grinding fills the air around us. It's so loud that I almost want to cover my ears to protect my hearing. Slowly, the machine starts moving. At the same time, I hear a small voice on my left.

"It's broken."

I look to my left to see who's standing next to me, and see a girl with long dark hair who looks around the same age as Lynn. She looks up at me at the same time and I'm immediately concerned by the horrified look on her face.

"What's wrong?" I yell over the sound of the ride and the voices of everyone else on it.

"My-my buckle is broken." She tells me, holding multiple pieces of the buckle in her hand as evidence. The ride starts to spin faster and I see her lip quiver before she starts silently crying.