Congrete angel - Liam

Bree pov:

invisible. irrelevant. Just a insignificant eleven~ year~ old  living in a war~ torn country. At least that's  what people say.

And, really no every noticed me when they walked past me on the schools large courtyard. They only see the other girls laughing and giggling in small corns under the building arches while the boys rushed out to challenge each other in a game of soccer or football.It was rare if they saw the quiet friendless souls...... but we were there. Not really worthy of being picked on, We just came and went in silence. We barely ever spoke to anyone, not even to each other, although I never knew why.

"Hey, Girl! Wait!" I voice yelled from a crossed the school courtyard, on the steps that led to the cobblestone road bellow. I had just walked through the main doors of the school when I saw Louis, a boy in my class, waving at me . immediately I turned to back inside the school, certain that must be calling for someone else.

"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to ..... Sardine girl" he said. "Don't let the door close. I forgot my ball inside".

That's what everyone calls me Sardine girl.

My Father would say are family carried the scent of the sea, but that was just his fancy way of saying we stink of fish. It made sense since Father was a merchant seaman before he left us and Mama has and always will be a sardinea , selling sardines and the market and door to door. The sardine's were bigger then my feet, but they were stinker. No wonder everything we own, including me, reek of fish.

I propped the door open, and watched as Louis trotted over to me. He slowed down and looked back at his friends and pinched his nose. They all laughed. It wasn't that I was surprised at being made fun of .... I tried my best to ignore it. But , on that day , The sun in a cloudless seemed to signal the arrival of spring. and I like the weather, was ready for a change.

And so , I took a deep breath, I moved my foot making the door reverberate and the latch clicked. "Idiot" He shouted , he pushed me to the side . and pulled on the locked door.

"My name is and will never be Sardine girl" I shout whispered My eyes never left from the floor.

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I followed the narrow cobble stone roads back towards mu neighborhood, I passed the shoe shop, the hot dog stand, and the people sitting outside at the small tables of the sidewalk cafes. Glancing up, I could see a few women in the balconied apartments pulling in the day's laundry that had been hung over the road to dry.

I picked up pace when I noticed the clock on big ben showed it was already five thirty. As I passed a few merchant seaman eating lunch, I couldn't help but think of Father. He could be so close to here. He could be only twenty kilometers away or right across the road but both distances seemed so great.  

Rounding the final corner, Where the last city street ended and the dirt road into the country side starts, I heard the loud sound of squeaking wheels approaching me. As I stepped to the side of the road, I saw two brown oxen's pulling a  large , mostly empty, rubbish cart. One of the huge beasts looked me in the eyes After making a loud snort it looked away.

"You don't smell that great either," I muttered.

The farmer , walking on the other side, walking next to the largest ox, he gave me a friendly smile then cracked the animal whip against the animals. I could tell there was a little bounce to the mans step, which meant he  had sold all his produce for a good price. At least someone is enjoying there day.

Actually, there were probably several people who were quite happy, as market days always brought an extra vigor to London. Everyone knows in the region that Mondays in London meant social events and poker games on the frond on after the market closed.

I love Mondays to but not everyone socials with just anyone. No, this was the day that I didn't. Have to sell sardines with Mom or do chores and most importantly get a beating. It as the only day I had freedom. So I went to the place where my dreams and stories began.

It was just a really large open field with a big oak tree, but it had always felt like a special place for me. The tree was just a ordinary  big tree, similar in size to the famous London tree in the heart of the city, I suppose, but this one had no long history behind it what so ever. It was only special and significant to Father and I. 

From the time I was a little girl, Before he left , he would take me to this tree and we would have picnics , and tell each other stories we wrote. He would always insist on me writing my own stories , he would lay under this tree and listen to my stories full of princesses and magical creatures. He always listened to every single word I said, like it would be my last, and when I finished he would usually smile and say " Angel tell me another". and I felt so precious.

I signed the last few years since he abandoned us has been living on a crumbling cliff. any moment I feared that the land I stood on would give away. I could wait for the stupid war to be over and for life to go back to how it used to be. Maybe Dad will come back and Mom wouldn't get so angry and violent any more. Without my father, The only good thing about my day was school, I only like it because of the books and learning.

Walking up the mountain side , I clutched my sweater closer to me as a cool breeze blew past the trail. Even in early March , on a beautiful afternoon, winter still came back in moderation. I left the concrete and muted colors of the city behind, and stepped onto the grassy patch of land. Here I could breath in the brilliance of the blue sky, the green and brown of the neighbor hood mountains, and dream and forget the world all around me.

I thrust my hand in my pocket skirt pocket and my fingers rubbed the edge of the satin pouch buried inside. It was the last thing Father made me before he left. A blue stain pouch he made out of the lining of his only tux. I grasped it and felt the treasure inside. It was a reminder of all the days we spent together.

And then I was there, the grass surrounded the majestic oak., which stood with tall with pride new leaves growing on its branches. The sun, slowly sinking into the mountains, casting a orange glow on everything and I knew I had only a hour to enjoy this before I had to go home.

I reached out and touched the warm, wrinkled old bark, greeting it like an old friend. Settling into my favorite spot, where I could gaze at the city in the far distance and still feel as if I was completely detached from it , I undid the zipper around my book bag  and pulled out my leather diary.

I wanted to write a letter to Father , ask him to come back, maybe he can get Mom to stop being violent and stop drinking. But I had no clue where he went. Twirling the pencil I always keep in my notebook, I looked at the London shadows by the large buildings in the sleepy town of London.

I tried imagining into something wondrous , But everything that came to mind was sinister and freighting. I clenched the pencil so hard I could feel it begin to bend between my fingers. A little more and it would snap in to. I stopped and relaxed my hand. I couldn't dwell on my dads disappearance.

Father deserved a good story. Closing my eyes, I hope that my imagination would take over my brain but nothing happened. It'd been the same the last few times I'd been to my tree. My mind would off to where my Father could be , was he looking for me.

"Think about a beautiful wonderland, Angel" I commanded and closed my eyes squeezing my eyelids shut. so tight that pink and blue spots appeared.

"beautiful wonderland Princess, huh?" A voice with a accent said. My eyes popped out, But the sunlight blinded me. All I could see was the silhouette of a person holding a big stick. I shield my face and brace for the beating.

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