Kalopsia | s. mcgarrett

5| WinGate Hope

Bella's P.O.V

                     On that Wednesday morning after my large breakfast, I had been eaten away by the boredom and anxiety, as I awaited to hear that Commander McGarrett had been delivered to the safe house. But, sadly, the phone call did not come, and I took it upon myself to go around the island that will always be home to my heart.

The breezing, soft wind. The large, tall palm trees. The sandy beaches, and the moving waves of the ocean. Everything on this island reminded me of the painful - but still full of joyful memories - past.

Walking down Malanai street, near Kalakaua Avenue, a reminiscing smile appeared on my face as I took in the view of beautiful Hawaii. Too engrossed in the memories of the past, I had not realized that my legs led me to one place my father took me often, than not.

WinGate Hope Teen House.

Coming from a wealthy family, my father had a great amount of money in his banks. Money he knew he would not need almost half of it. So, he took it upon himself to donate the money to causes that could help and provide more for people that were struggling.

One of the places he donated was WinGate Hope Teen House.

My father has been so dedicated to this Teen House. Most of the people there knew him, and knew of his generosity. I always promised my father that I will live up to the person he was, and hopefully, I will.

Being here, so many memories had emerged from the darkest, deepest pits in my brain - a place I knew I would not very much like to visit. Taking a deep breath, I urged my legs to move towards the doors of the House.

I had been coming to visit this place the past two weeks. It helps to take my mind of the things that keep bugging me, something that happens a lot in this line of work. It's a great escape - better than counceling, and other things like that.

Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the mildly cool air of the place. Light chatter was heard, laughter included. My eyes drifted across the lobby, eyes right away catching the painting I grew up seeing. Walking up to a painting on the wall to the left from the entrance, I could make out the faint strokes of the brush, the blending of colors, the blemishes that accentuated the painting, and a surge of emotions fell atop me as I reminisced the many times this painting caught my eye at my family home's foyer.

"Sorry, can I help you?"

Quickly turning around, my black locks flying in the air from the sudden movement, I was greeted by a young lady, few years my senior. Smiling politely, I gestured to the painting. "Very beautiful painting. Seems almost familiar."

The young woman with light brown hair smiled warmly at me, a faraway look in her eyes as they fell upon the painting. "It was a donation from Mister Pierce. He was the man that started this place, and made sure that we were in a stable position."

I nodded, taking in her striking features, as her eyes were still upon the painting. "Seems like a really great guy."

My statement took her out of her trance, "What? Oh yes, he was. Mister Nathan Pierce still changes lives, even after his death." I gulped at that statement. My eyes wandered, trying to remove the images of my father at his death, gruesome memories I knew would reappear if I entered this place. "I haven't seen you around here the past two weeks."