My name is Angel, I love school and hate real life along with people. People? Yes, people! They are so picky, they can’t see what is really going on in the world. People who gossip, people that no longer have any love or appreciation for what we have. Humans are just so blind; they don't know what’s right and what’s wrong, and will believe anything but the truth, even if it is staring them in the face.
But, thing is, I’m not like any of them, I just so happen to be different and can see and sense things that are wrong along with abnormal. The government says that we should fear people like myself. My parents know better though. They feel that being different isn’t such a bad thing.
I've always tried to ask them why people should be afraid of me. But all they reply is “Don’t tell anyone even if you think they are your best friend.” Of course I was a tiny rebel and when I was seven I told my 'friend' that there was something wrong with me. I didn’t know what it was called though, so at first she thought I had posessed some type of disease, and then she started freaking out and told her parents about me. Immediately they called my school, and they called my parents.
My parents had looks of disappointment etched into their faces when they found out what I did, I wished they hed yelled at me. Instead they talked to me ever so quietly, with absurd calmness, I almost asked ‘what’ so I could actually hear them, but thought better of it. The only part I could make of it was “We have to go now, change our names, and from now on your home schooled.”
I remember crying myself to sleep that night, never seeing my parents so upset. It really irritated me how they keep exchanging glances.
Finally I couldn’t withstand the urge to ask, I blurt out “What?” I feel my mother’s eyes burn into me and even deeper into my soul I do.
“Do you want to know what you are,” she asked.
“Of course” I reply. Finally this is the day I find out what I am and why I am different from anyone else.
“You're a Detector.”
***
Ever since that day I’ve kept thinking about what the hell that ment. What kind of parent tells their kid that they are a freaking detector. I swear they are making shit up.
I have been keeping to myself, though, making sure no one gets too close to me. I have wondered what it would be like to live a semi-normal life. To have a real friend and have those pitiful secrets about their crushes and things like that. But, no of course, of all of the people in the world, I had to be one of the very few detectors. That is my deep, dark secret and if I ever happen to tell someone, I would have to kill them, plesant.
I live in the country and go to a private all-girls’ school named Willow Middle. My mother abandoned the thought of keeping me home schooled for the rest of my life. I’m guessing it was because it was difficult to get the curriculum I needed and that it was just so much work since we have to hunt for our food and tend to our gardens.
My parents act like the day they told me I was a detector never happened, though I know they never truly forgot. Sometimes when I look at them their faces are tense and their eyes looking frightened and when they finally notice me, their faces shift into a forced smile.
I live in a small and cozy house out in the country. The outside of it is a warm, light brown with dark brown trimming. From the outside it looks very small, but it is actually quite large.
My bedroom is my home. It has anything I would need in it. A mini refrigerator, a bathroom connected to it, and books. In fact, my bed is built in a bookshelf. I have another bookshelf on the other side of my room that spins into a room. In that room my bookshelf spins into a library with any book I would ever need.
My family and I also have an indoor greenhouse. Well, two to be accurate. One of them is filled with beautiful plants, the other is filled with fruits and vegetables. Sometimes I will find myself going in the greenhouse with gorgeous plants in my free time, at least when I’m not reading or writing.
There is also a humungous office that anyone can use. The desk is very writer-friendly and the chair is so comfortable, you never want to get up. I tend to write stories expressing my emotions quite a bit.
We own about one hundred acres of land, half of which is made up of a forest. A quarter of it is long grass with other types of wildlife in that area. The rest of it is grass that always remains trimmed. My favorite place throughout my yard is the forest.
I love the forest because it is mystical. With it’s crystal-clear lake, mischievous animals, and the bright, vibrant greens, the place gives you the impression that there is something within the forest that is a mystery. Though sometimes you feel like that mystifying force stirs.
Most of the time I go in the forest to sit under my favorite tree, which is a willow, and read. Though sometimes I’ll go in the forest just to see if I can discover its secret. Other times I will watch the animals frolicing in the forest.
One time I saw what looked like a baby dragon, an other time I saw a clump of faded rainbow feathers. I would spend hours thinking about what they could mean it has to be more than what it seems, which right now is very unusual.
As I think about these things I begin to drift off to sleep, listening to sounds of nature and the thoughts stirring in my head.
