Guardian Angel

It was 9:30 in the morning. The obnoxious pound of rain against my window was the first noise of my day. The rain clouds darkened the sky making it feel like it was 6:00 in the morning. Why is it so rainy in London? Oh, how I hate the mornings. I think that the morning is evil! I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. By the time I decided to drag myself out of the comfort of my bed, it was about 10:00 according to the old clock on the wall. The floor was cold and hard. As I got dressed I couldn't help but think of the peculiar dream I had last night. I was in a garden surrounded by beautiful flowers. All of a sudden, every plant shriveled up and died. Then I felt a dark presence behind me. Almost like a shadow. But I didn't run. I wasn't even afraid. This force seemed to be calling to me. But why? What does it matter. It's only a dream. I grabbed a dark colored, plain looking dress from my wardrobe. I slipped on a pair of black lace-up boots and let my dress fall. I then proceeded to my small mirror hanging on my wall. I brushed my hair and made sure to cover the scar across my eye. The small, cracked mirror on the wall was actually one of the better features of this old dump. My house is small and very old. It looks run down from the inside and the outside. But we make it work. Margret and I. I don't call my stepmother "mom". She is nothing like a mother to me. My real mother, Annabelle Blackwood, died when I was born and my father, Joseph Knight, died when I was only six years old. Ever since then I've been living with my stepmother. She's awful and cruel. I try to keep my distance from her when I can. I looked down the hall and made sure she was still asleep. Her loud snoring was proof that she was so I went to the kitchen to make breakfast. I grabbed some fruit from the bowl on the table and a piece of bread from the breadbox. That would be more than enough for me. Before I could even begin to eat I heard a knock at the door. I walked over and opened up the old door to see an older lady dressed up quite professionally. Her hair was neatly in a bun. She had rectangular glasses resting on her nose and she wore a black white dress. "Hello there young lady," the women said as if I were five years old. "My name is Ms. Walker. Are you Rylie Knight?" I glared at her. "Yes. Who wants to know?" She chuckled a bit but she didn't seem amused. She was just trying to brush off my rudeness. "Well," said Ms. Walker, "I am with the London Board of Children Safety and we have received word that a women by the name of Margret Knight has been, um..." She stumbled for the right words as if she thought I couldn't understand her. "She has been mean to her daughter." This women has only been here for 5 minutes and I already hate her. She looked at me and then without warning, she lifted the piece of hair covering my peculiar shaped scar. "Oh dear your mother did this to you didn't she" uttered Ms. Walker. Before I could answer, Ms. Walker and a team of men entered our small one level house. "We are going to speak with your mother dear so please go to your room." Ms. Walker sweetness is obviously fake but since I didn't want to deal with her any longer, I walked to my room. Once I had closed my bedroom door I just fell back onto my bed. Ms. Walker was wrong about my scar. It's true my stepmother was a cruel woman and has beat me before but this scar is a different story. I've had this scar for as long as I could remember. Even stranger than that, it is in the shape of of a rose. I'm not even sure why. While I was lying there in thought I heard screaming from down the hall. "Unhand me! Who are you? Let me go!" The scream was coming from my so called "mother".i swear that the screaming from my stepmother, the yelling from Ms. Walker, and conversations between the men lasted for almost an hour! I just lay there trying to block it out. Suddenly there was silence. You could hear a pin drop. Following the silence a man walked into my room. He spoke in a monotone voice. "Miss Rylie, your stepmother is being taken away for a while so we can see if she is fit to care for a child." I glanced at him in disgust. "How does this concern me?" I spat the words out at him. He cleared his throat. "Until we find out how good of a care taker your stepmother is, you will be living in an orphanage run by our organization. We will give you time to pack and then escort you to the orphanage in about an hour." He walked out closing the door behind him. I could feel my cheeks getting red with anger. No. They won't take me to an orphanage. I won't let them. I had a plan. I quickly packed a small, light bag and hopped out my window. I was going to run away. And I knew exactly where to go. "Blackwood Manor," I muttered while picking up speed. "Grandma, grandpa here I come!"