‘An angel must have gone to hell today.’ The heavy downpour that bounced along the uneven cobble seemed to usher in the beginnings of fog along the rivers of streets. Oil lamps illuminated with the eeriness of morning, flickering their flames subtly in the cold, almost distracting. Very few wandered at this time of the day, however, it was October, and the chill began to stink into the crevices of the city without warning, leading to a slow, hesitant hibernation of the common folk. At the start of the day, it wasn’t a waste of one. My room lay adorned to the chill of the crisp air being battled by the dimming fireplace with hot coals striving for a thread of last chance. To that notion, it gave me an excuse to finally emerge from the tomb that was my warm bed. Allowing my blonde-haired bed head to fall along the rest of my face, I managed to scope out my slippers before frost started to coat my toes with pretty patterns of death. Speaking of which, along the window linings danced what appeared to be the first sign of winter coming. Frost coasted the corners as if trying to hide from something that didn't exist. I always thought, what if I could be something as singularly symbolic as frost, or a cloud, or maybe even a drop of rain? Do I warn people? Do I shelter people? Or would I give way to crying in front of people so easily? To be honest, producing thoughts like these always gives some different meaning to how things could have been.

If only things could be different. Maybe I wouldn't be alone in this world. I get that I may only be sixteen but as a young woman, I feel abandoned. And yet, it wasn't always like this. The war started on my birthday, and if it wasn't an omen to my father, then don’t know what was. With all honesty, it would be an understatement to say luck was not on my side. I emerged out of my cocoon of sheets, gliding over toward the dying light of the fire and gently placing a dry log to feed the embers. A few pops and crackles persisted until the once nonexistent flames seemed to come out of hiding from behind their shelter. It was always a curious thing. Several thousands of years ago, this is what started it all. I began probing the area, aerating it so that it may last longer as I noticed the frost disappearing back into the air. To pass the time while getting ready, the certain rituals one must do vary, however out of pure curiosity I must always look under my bed. I don't know why but I always have some weird sense that something may be under there one day. A cat? No, that would be profound. Possibly millions of pounds! I already have enough money my father gave me to use during his absence. Regardless, it was a passive act. 

Dancing around the rest of the room, managing to dress for the unexpected funeral of the new devil, I clip in a few earrings along with a sturdy blouse to keep myself from shoving in the wretched cold of London. I always tried to dress in the sense of comfort and not concerned about the prospects of eyes on my attire. Now why may one ask? Well, pants are more my common choice. I open the door to the well-lit halls of many paintings that mirror anything from greenery in the gardens to the portraits of men that I barely recognized, even if they were my ancestors, I tend not to be sentimental. Down the stairs into the cozy arrangement of sofas and a radio, accompanied by a dusty piano and a gramophone, I promptly grabbed a woven basket along with a set of nice rain boots and headed straight for the door. It was going to be a frigid day, and yet, there was always something. Immediately a fragrant smell of dust and fuel from the mobiles that passed by in a hurry. Pompous-looking bastards with their high-standing wives and children. It always seemed odd that this is what people aspired for. By all accounts, we are not poor, quite frankly above average for the regular home, but then again being the only resident for the past year, it’s been easy to survive off less. Besides, I do work, mainly just as a pass time. 

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Across the streets and through the bustle of people, there is always something to be seen. Window cleaners early in the morning beating the October winds, women heading off to work due to the shortage of men for the war efforts and now seen as typically as a person praying in a church, detainment of ‘Markers’. What is that you may ask? Homeless. For whatever reason the streets are being cleaned of them more recently than ever. No one knows why, however. Maybe it’s due to the violence, or maybe the population. Who knows, it’s better not to ask questions anyway. The only run-in was during the summer when an ambush on a market square. A homeless woman had her kids stripped away from her and she was removed separately from the others. A dreadful sight, but I could only imagine. While the means of this event strain me so, many around me seem to not blink an eye to the absurdity of these acts. I continue on my way along the bend and through a couple of market stalls that sit comfortably side by side together. The late fall, farm season always delivers for the feelings in the year. The leaves turning and the disappearance of animals and bugs always seemed sad. It seemed like we were the only life remaining in the midst of it. My god, Sometimes I felt as if I was the only one. I finally snapped out of my trance when I found myself on the bridge towards Saint John's cathedral, looking over the muggy river. There was a feeling between her and myself that felt very odd. Ever since I was a baby, the feeling of grief always filled my mind, almost like I was mourning the loss of something. 

Or Someone…..

I perched over the railing, staring off into the view as if I would see a new sight beyond what was already present. Birds within a flock, soaring off into the early morning to their new destination south, the fishermen arriving back from their morning rounds, gathering the feed of fish to fuel the whole city. And while I stare, there is always a song that breaks through, again for unknown reason, I hear it;

It's all forgotten now

I’ve always thought that song depressing. A little drawn out, but it also wasn’t my style so no shame there. It always seemed memorable though. From when I was but a babe, I could hear the ringing in my brain of that verse. If only I knew who sung it to me. My eyes adjusted to the road once more as I began my trek to the other side, not realizing that my eyes were bouncing off of me left and right. What was going on during then, wasn’t I just staring off into the false sun? Forgetting in a pinch, I kept on. During the rest of my way was a push and shove of protests to the cathedral, something about ‘Sanctuary’. I can only assume what it could be about. Finally, walking in the warm glow of lights streaming through the window of a bakery, My feet were first in the doorway to see Dorothy, my boss staring daggers at me. “You showed up finally! Where the hell were you?” Her eyes popped slightly out of her head, giving it a bit of a comedic look to her. Knowing Dorothy, she was always a firecracker. She expected the best out of everyone, even though half the women working there were still crying over their husbands being shipped away. Not to brag, but I currently hold the ‘Best Employee Award’. She continued,“Breina, In the kitchen now! I have pastries in there and everyone else is a complete nuisance besides being in the front.” With a huff and stomp, she disappeared as if she was magic. And without hesitation, I followed.