The Day an Angel fell.

The chapter I'm presenting now, wasn't written as an adult thinking back on his childhood, but rather a 8 year old child looking into the mind of another 8 year old and writing excatly what he saw.

The day an Angel fell.

It was a bright day, without a cloud in the sky. Laughter drifted on the soft breeze of the air and floated around effortlessly among smiling children, as the rays of the sun bathed them in light. Water was being shot off in various directions from fathers. Mothers shouted various warnings over their many glasses of cider, only to be cut off by the laughter of their friends over gossip heard in the chippers last night. Laughter. There was a lot of that, and that’s how he knew it was going to be a bad day, a really bad day.

Small young eyes watched the activities outside, watching the other children run, watching their fathers play happily with them, the mothers giggle and chatter. He didn’t understand how, happy, they seemed. Like one of those movies on the TV they show at Christmas, all content and complete. His father never did anything like that, play water games in the sun, the only liquid his father knew was lager and after that whiskey. The house smelled of it, that and his f**s. Even when he wasn’t puffing away at them, the clouds of smoke could still be seen clinging to the ceiling like a monster waiting to descend and attack you. "Those things attacked your lungs" his older cousin said, and so Matthew had learned to hold his breath and cover his mouth while walking through the sitting room. He was good at that, coming up with ways to protect himself, he had too, his mother wasn’t able to do it anymore she was too ill. And anyway, he was almost nine! Eight and three quarters to be exact! He was smart enough to know where to hide from monsters, a boogie man…a fist. It was his own fault for getting in the way he was told, his own bloody fault for a bruised arm, a bleeding nose. He knew that, he didn’t mind them really, getting them was much better than seeing her get them. His mother, she was the kindest and most beautiful thing in the whole world, she was the best mother. She didn’t deserve it, she was too wonderful to get hurt. He did though, Matthew got in the way, it was his damn own fault.

His father was gone for the day, probable to the pub. So he didn’t need to hide yet, not til later when the old man got back. " Mothers not feeling well today ", he thought to himself, "so I won’t bother her " He might go and see Myobi-chan, a small girl he’d met when he was seven in the park one day; she always played with him there. Maybe she was at the park already, wondering why her friend wasn’t there to play with her. He couldn’t keep her waiting, after all he was older and had to mind her from the older kids, cause she looked a bit different than the rest of them and the other kids didn’t like that, so they were mean. Matthew didn’t mind though, she was really nice and had the coolest Wellingtons on when it rained, so he liked her. He’d play with her, and then get back in time for his father to come home. Maybe he wouldn’t be angry this time, maybe he’d be like the other dads today? Just this once. " I’ll tell Mum I’m going out, but I’ll be back in time to protect her " he said to himself as he moved away from the window and ran from his bedroom to his Mothers room. His small hands pushed open the door but no-one was in there, he checked twice just in case she was hiding too and she’d mistaken him for his dad. But she wasn’t so he ran down the stairs, sitting room, no, just the smoke monster in there, not the bathroom, or the hall. It was the kitchen left, and either she was a really good hider or she was in there. With a grin he ran towards the kitchen and went to open the door, but it was jammed. Pouting a bit he pushed more as it began to move a little bit. Once more, a really big push he decided as he threw himself as the door and it flung open, unfortunately he didn’t stop moving as he tripped over what had been blocking the doorway and landed to the group with a small thud. A small groan escaped from his mouth as he pulled himself up from the ground, only to stop midway as his eyes glanced on what had caused him to fall.

Soft, wavy hazel hair was hiding half on her face and her form was instantly blurred by tears forming in his eyes. He moved slowly over to her still body, her face looked like a dolls, white and still. Shaking hands shook her a bit. “Please, please get up” he said in a small voice; she always got up when she fell, always. Why wasn’t she responding to him? “You’re not supposed to sleep on the floor…” he mumbled shaking her a bit more. Tears began to rapidly fall down his face as his hands tightened and clung to her body. “Please! Please! Wake up!” Matthew buried his face on her shoulder, letting the cardigan she had been wearing soak up the tears falling from his eyes, as his trembling voice pleaded once more. “...Mother… Mum… Mum ……………………………………….Mommy?”

Author's Note

Author is dsylexic.

Let me explain a little of whats going on here; it started a couple of years ago when it seemed that just about everyone was writing an autobiography. I have to admit that I felt a little miffed that i had not been asked to write one myself, though admittedly, my life never really was all that exciting. I just thought to myself "Wouldn't it be great if i could write a biography or something?". The idea disappeared quite quickly and i forgot all about it.

Until a few weeks ago. And I started to write. But it wasn't about myself, or in fact any real person. It was about a roleplay character whom i had developed for at least 2 years, the character that intriged me the most: Matthew Cross. He had started out as the comic relief in a roleplay and the advice giver when things got tough, he had no indepth past nor did he play any major role except follow the main characters around and remind them what they were fighting for. It was then, in one of the post, and in an attempt to stir things up, another player asked my character, "Well what are you doing here, what are you fighting for?". I felt an extreme pang of guilt that, while being surrounded by these complex characters with meaning, my Matthew had been left as a hollow barrel of laughs. And while trying to develop him, the memory of biographys came back to me again. And so I've ended up writing random chapters of significant happenings in his life, they aren't very well done, but then again they aren't meant to be.