A gentle breeze rolled across the dry, dusty pavement. A shadowed figure stalked the path. It was the man everyone looked up to. The Guardian. He gave a dark chuckle as he passed the ashes of what used to be a were-fox. And another as he passed the ashes of a dragon. Hundreds more piles of ashes of innocent creatures stretched out as far as he could see. He'd done this. And no one had any idea.
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Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. I turned over and slammed the button of my shiny red alarm clock as hard as I could. I hated that thing. As usual, the Guardian was stood at the end of my bed. Not one perfect blond hair out of place on his perfect blond head. He was here every morning with out fail. His brilliant blue eyes bore into me as I rolled out of bed.
"What's wrong, were-cat got your tongue?" I joked, whilst pulling up my fresh, clean socks.
"Now is not the time for jokes Aoife, you're going to be late for sch-, I mean you're going to miss your class at the institute if you don't hurry up," he retorted. 6am, every morning, apart from Sundays, I have to get up. As you can imagine I walk around like a zombie for the rest of the day. Well, not exactly like a zombie, otherwise they'd think I was mocking them and try to eat my brains, ew.
"Okay, Mr.Grumpy pants, I'm almost ready, just give me a second," I said. He snorted when I said Mr.Grumpy pants, an almost laugh, I suppose that's the most you can get out of him. "You know, I still don't understand why, out of all the mutants in the world, you come to me every single morning. I mean, people literally try to kill themselves to get just a glimpse of you, just to prove you're real. But I get to see you everyday, why is that?"
"Aoife, how many times do I have to tell you? It's because you're the special one - the most gifted out of everyone!" he said this one while flailing his arms around to exaggerate his words. I still didn't understand. HE was the special one, and EVERYONE knew it.
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She was the special one. Maybe not yet. But she will be. She's the one that fits the prophecy. The wings. Mostly brown on top, mostly white on the bottom, 'you can't see her when you're under her and you cant see her when you're over her'. 'Remember the number 627' which is her apartment number. The Guardian reviewed the prophecy constantly.
'The Guardian will be defeated,
By the girl that's least expected,
Her school grades depleted,
Followers she has collected.
Remember the number 627,
This girl with the golden gift,
She looks like she's from heaven,
Her power gives her lift.
You can't see her when you're under her,
She has transformed into cloud,
You can't see her when you're over her,
When she becomes the ground.'
YOU ARE READING
The face of an Angel
Action16 year old Aoife Harvard lives in a dystopian future. She is in the last third of the population. She is one of the weapons.
