LEGACY OF THE FALLEN

DISCLAIMER
The first part of this story has a lot of exposition. In retrospect, the character you are
about to meet doesnt remember every single detail in his life. However, he knows enough to
hopefully tell his story. Hopefully, he doesnt bore you.

Birth
Ive always questioned my true purpose here in the world. Why am I here? What am I
meant to do? What more is left to do that isnt already done? Growing up into the Catholic
religion, the things that have happen to me make me want to question God and the faith I was
told to blindly follow.
Lets start with the moments before I was born. My mother was enjoying herself, being a
young twenty-something year old graduate from college, just enjoying her years of being young
while they last. She grew up with a strict mother, using her power to instill common sense into
her young undeveloped mind. The minimum punishment my mother would receive was being
grounded and smacked. It could get much worse than that if the situation called for it. Over that
time, my mother would come to learn how to use common sense in the real world, just to
disregard them immediately after. She ended up running into this manipulative tool one day. He
wasnt bad on the surface. He stood five feet, seven inches tall. He was an African American
athletics coach for a high school football team. He had this irresistible charm that would always
seem to get him a woman for his own pleasure whenever he so wanted it. This man would be
known to me as my bastard father. When the two of them had met, it was not love at first sight.
No, it was a search for pure, unadulterated fun between two seemingly unknown strangers. The
only problem with that sort of interaction was the risk of something that would change their lives
forever. That night was just a seemingly fun moment that they thought theyd forget in a day. At
least, that would the case if my father was more cautious.
A few weeks later, my mother became pregnant with me, her first-born son. After
realizing the gravity of the situation, my father realized that he would be able to raise a son to his
own liking, especially after raising a daughter with his now ex-wife. This was the moment when
his true character began to seep through his charm. He would want to have full control of his son.
He wanted to pass on his legacy: a legacy of lies and manipulation. I was the result of an
accident: an accident that was never supposed to happen. The life I would live soon after I was
born would only prove this fact.

Grace
 I was a disappointing child on many levels. When I was born, I was born with a case of
bronchitis. I was pretty weak in terms of a newborns strength. My father noticed this
unfortunate flaw in me, and began to question himself and the decision he had made. My mother,
on the other hand, did not feel the same way. Despite my obvious defectives, I dont think I have
ever seen her face light up the way she did when she first saw me. Her eyes transitioned from the
excruciatingly scarring pain of her process through labor to the glimmer of hope and enamor.
The moment she held me in her arms, she realized what her destiny would be. She realized, by
the grace of her God, what she was meant to do. She was meant to care for me, to raise me as
one with the people.
To tell the truth, I was not a child that could so easily be raised. Unlike most kids, I never
really liked interacting with others. I mostly spent time by myself, either drawing pictures or
watching whatever was on tv. I was exposed to television at a very early age. Too early, if ask
you ask me. This enabled my brain to inherit a disorder known as Attention Deficit
Hyperactive Disorder, or ADHD for short. It has gotten me into countless incidents of trouble,
whether if it was at school or in public or even at my home. That being said, it allowed me to
express myself in a way I couldnt have imagined otherwise. My mind was always racing,
always thinking. I loved it. It enabled me to be able to write with precision and to draw from
memory. It helped me embrace my creative side: a side of me that my father was less than
pleased about. As I said before, he wanted to mold me in order to preserve his legacy. He wanted
me to do sports, he wanted to me to pursue a career in sports, he wanted me to watch sports, you
name it. If it was related to anything that he deemed a sport, he would pay attention. That wasnt
me. I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to draw. I wanted to make cartoons. It was something I
always took passion in, but it was never enough to please him.
Going more into depth with my father, he had an unnecessarily brutal way of raising a
boy. Unlike his efforts to raise my eldest sister with his ex-wife, he wanted me to be a man.
The moment I did something wrong, or acted like a three year old (especially when I was three),
he would either smack me around with his leathery back hand, or he would whip me with his
skin-like belt. Over time, it soon transitioned from reasons of showing discipline and evolved
into reasons for convenience and pleasure. It is corruption at its finest. One shall not possess all
that power. Those words have echoed throughout the history of man and throughout the history
of me. Once someone realizes that he has the power to do whatever he wishes to do, it is
imperative that he will begin to abuse that power. This was the case with my father. The very
moment he realizes what advantage he has over anyone he is involved with, he will abuse his
power in order to secure his victory. This has been proven time and time again with every
encounter I have with him. Whenever he knows he has lost, it is almost as if he reverts back to
being a stupid child, throwing a temper tantrum the moment he doesnt get his way. Hell say the
most harmful things, too. He used to insult me using grade school vernacular, such as loser and
freak and even faggot at one point. He called my mother a bitch a few times as well. Hell,
hes called his past girlfriends insults of that variety on several different occasions. The things
he said could easily offend anyone he directs his insults towards. Despite severing his
relationships with others, he still expects to just reappear into their lives as if nothing had
happened in previous incidents. Its a never-ending pattern: a pattern he would later use on me.
His impactful method of nurturing continued for about three years after I was born. Why
did this stop? Well, that was because of the birth of my younger sister, Alicia. My mother
understood that after she was born, his methods needed to change. Having her around would
mean improving the environment she must live in. This meant that my father needed to tone
down his nurturing. To my surprise, he did exactly that. It mustve been because I was that
much of a disappointment. The fact that I was his only son, who just so happened, to not want to
do the things he took passion in just disappointed him on every level. The very idea of the
possibility that I would not be his legacy must have convinced him otherwise. It seemed that by
the grace of God, things were about to get better for me. At least, it looked like it, until my
mother took Alicia and I, and moved away.

Reconstruction
To be completely fair, my mother and the Father of the Fuckin Year were arguing at
an alarming rate. Most days when my father would could home from work, hed drop things and
head to bed, always in the pissiest of moods.
I remember hearing the arguments echo through the hallway of that old-ass,
withered-down, house. My mother would ask something like, Could you throw out the trash
from the kitchen? I have to put Alicia to bed.
You can do that shit, yourself, he would say in the most unenthusiastically irritable
tone of voice. I just got back. I need a fuckin break. My father works as a coach for his high
schools football team. Despite all of the constant yelling he does towards the other players
whenever they mess up a play, his job is not as tiring as he makes it out to be. Most of the
players that join the team have a prior knowledge of the sport, so they are not entirely ignorant
about the rules and the plays. In fact, the team actually qualified for the state play-offs the year
before. In addition to that, most of the players from the previous year returned to the team. With
that in mind, my father shouldnt have to come home everyday seeming like hes had something
up his ass. Well, aside from his ego, of course. The old bastard was lazy. Hed often mistake
getting out of his bed as hard work.
That being said, hed usually be the one to start up the constant bickering and arguing.
My mother and father would argue for hours on end almost everyday. The arguments would
range from leaving the refrigerator open while it was not in use to being a completely
incapable, irresponsible, lazy-ass excuse of a father. After three years of that shit and raising
two children, my mother finally decided to move away, taking Alicia and I with her to raise.
I still dont understand why it took her so long to end things with him, especially after the
shit she had to constantly deal with while my sister and I were in the other room, feeling the
vibrations of the outrage from the hallway. She always tells me its because at one point, she
loved him. Thats a bunch of crap. Lets be real for a second. Being in love is never an excuse
to make anyone suffer the wrath of their significant other, especially at a dangerously large rate.
It makes no sense. My mother, the person with more common sense than the average American,
uses that excuse, and expects me to believe that? No way. No one in their right mind would ever
substitute common sense for love, right?
Back to the matter at hand, my mother took us, and moved in with my aunt back in Los
Angeles. It was infinitely better than living in that goddamn dreadful-ass hell house. My aunts
house was a bit withered, both inside and out, but it was just as stable as the day it was first built.
Most of the rooms in the house were all connected to the living room, besides the rooms in the
hallway, the kitchen, and the laundry room. My older cousins room was directly adjacent to the
living room, with only a sliding door separating the two rooms. My aunts bedroom was parallel
to the living room. Two doors, one on the far left and the other on the far right were the only
ways to get into her room, besides crashing through the walls like the Kool-Aid Man. While my
older cousin, Jaime, had his room on the far side of the house, his younger brother, Carlos, was
on the opposite side. The door to Carlos room was directly across from the far left entrance of
his mothers room. The bathroom stood in between their doors in the hallway. Passed the
hallway on the opposite side from the living room lied the kitchen. It was a relatively small room
compared to Carlos room, which was smaller by comparison. Personal space was but a mere
fantasy in the kitchen. At most, the kitchen could only occupy about five or six fully grown
adults at a time. Not to mention that the kitchen was also where we had the dining room. It
wasnt directly across from the kitchen nor was it directly in the next room. No. It was in the
kitchen, meaning that they were the same room. It was pretty cramped in there, especially during
breakfast and dinner. The laundry room was behind the house behind Carlos room and behind
the the eatery, making it the smallest, most narrow room in the entire house. Ironically, its also
the most cramped room in the house, with the second most cramped room being the kitchen. It
was always cluttered with hampers upon hampers of dirty-ass clothes. Other times, it would just
be unsanitized tighty-whities. The clothes were either on the floor in the pathway to the washing
machine, on top of the washing machine, or just hanging over the washing machine from the
ceiling. Its also good to know that the maximum amount of people in the house before we
moved in was three: my aunt and my two cousins. With another three people entering that house,
we would definitely be able to smell the odors of each individual person, and be able to
memorize each individual persons odor. Despite that un-savoring predicament, it was still better
than living in that fucking house with that fucking buffoon.
My mother, my aunts, and my late uncle used to live at the house growing up after
moving to United States from the glorious lands of Latin America. Growing up with my Abuela
must have been a challenge for them. Considering what my mother had told me about her strict
rules from her childhood, I have it way easier than she and her older siblings did. Or at least, less
strict. Apparently, my abuela was never very lenient about letting her kids out with their friends.
At best shed let them come over to the house, but she wouldnt ever let her naive children
outside of the house. Well, public school being one of the only exceptions. When I was born, my
mother was a hell of a lot more lenient about giving me more freedom. She would allow me to
go whenever I wanted, with her permission of course. She didnt shelter me when I was growing
up. No, she made sure I was exposed to more outlets, more opportunities to learn and to educate
myself to better prepare myself for my adult life. I wasnt as sheltered as she was in her
childhood. With this in hand, life would seem to become much better. At least, theoretically
speaking.
Unfortunately, I never took advantage of those opportunities. I didnt have many friends,
so I never went out to hang out with anyone. I was a bit of a wallflower per say. Id usually stay
home, and watch tv. Typically, I liked to watch cartoons. The various art styles of each cartoon I
watched has always captivated me. Seeing how every little detail effectively defines each
character has always intrigued me. Every single movement they made, whether they moved their
entire bodies or just changed the expressions on their faces, was the most exciting and the most
riveting moment of every single cartoon I watched. The animation felt more realistic as opposed
to the actually living human beings that resided in my little ghetto-ass neighborhood in LA.
That wasnt the only opportunity I never took advantage of, though. I used to go the a
magnet school. Unlike ordinary public schools, magnet schools have a variety of different
classes, clubs, and expensive equipment in hand to expand on the education process for its
students. So basically, think college, but for kids in elementary school.
I remember my first day at that school. I was in the first grade, maybe six or seven years
old. I had just gone through a long, silent bus ride from my home in LA to the humongous castle
they called a school. Just the front of the school looked like it extended from one city to the
other. It was huge. On the far left side of the front, there were layers upon layers of bushes and
vines that gave the school a natural feeling. The far right was moreorless the same thing. The
only exception being the dirt road that drew a path to my school. In the foreground of my view
was the palace. I wish I was exaggerating. The school was one of the tallest building complexes
in the entire city. The entire complex was on the lowest altitude in the entire city, too. Yet, it still
manages to tower the shopping center complex that was down the street. That place was like
three stories tall, too. To continue the fact that this was essentially a royal castle, the front
entrance to the school was a immensely tall, silver-encrusted gate. This gate alone would tell you
how prestigious this school was at the time. What always bothered me about that gate was how
strangely clean it was at every hour of every day. You could literally throw a pile of dog shit at
that gate, and it would still be shinier and cleaner than a nude woman fresh out of a hot shower.
It was as if a diva with the power of wizardry had designed the gateway to glimmer and to shine
despite any approaching threat that comes its way. It was a sight-to-see, come one, come all. I
really do wish I was exaggerating. Because passed that prestigious gate lied a land of wonder and
intellect that surpassed even my own comprehension. Hundreds of different buildings all divided
into separate sections, each one that teaches an individual subject. Nearest to the gate was the
Music class. It wasnt just any type of music class either. No. Its main objective was to educate
the students on the basics of Music Theory, a subject in which college students learn in their
universities. Beyond the education buildings lied a sea of schoolyard possibilities. Beyond the
border of the divisions was the schoolyard. The very back of the schoolyard possessed a gigantic
baseball field, as if the school had a competitive baseball team in hand. The quality of the field
rivaled even the high school fields within the area. The dirt was well-grounded and smooth
enough not to trip, but rough enough to where a player could not slip and fall flat on his ass. The
grass had no odd-colored patches. It was always that luscious shade of grassy green with a hint
of evergreen on the edges of each blade. A far-sighted view of the sea of grass looked like a
ocean flowing with the calm currents of the earth. In addition to the already gorgeous field, there
were dozens upon dozens of equipment to choose from. There were so many balls for each
students individual pleasure. They could choose from a number of sports to play, including
handball, dodgeball, basketball, racquetball, tennis, ftbol, and the American version of Rugby.
It was a wonderland of seemingly limitless playtime and fun for all students. I really do wish that
I was exaggerating. It would make me feel less guilty about what I did if I were exaggerating.
With a school this advanced in its education system, there is no way in hell I could have
fucked this up. It was an easy opportunity that lied its privileged head towards my direction. I
would have to be the biggest idiot to mess up that opportunity, right? To give up on educating
myself in the art of Music Theory at such a young age. To tarnish the reputation of not only
myself, as well as the schools credibility. To manage to have everyone at that school, including
teachers, unanimously hate me. Thats impossible, right?

Outbreak
Im gonna start off by saying that I didnt have many friends. Not at school, not at home,
not anywhere. I was a loner. I always enjoyed my own company because I could never get
myself to impress any of the other kids. To them, I must have been some sort of freak. The only
people I managed to talk to in school were the girls in the grades above me. I originally met them
on the bus when I was on my way to school. I dont know why they hung out with me. They
must have felt bad for me or something. I was alone in the front of the bus while all of the other
kids hung out in the back seats, happily enjoying each others company. Id often times look
back at them to see what they did. They talked, they laughed, they played on their handhelds.
They were just having fun. I never understood the feelings they all had felt together: to be
comfortable with others and to be able to enjoy each others company. It was something I never
really experienced throughout my life, but I didnt want to make an effort to try either. Those
girls, Samantha, Josefina and Yvette, must have seen me, realizing I was a new student. That
couldve been it. From there on until the third grade, I had always talked to them whenever they
had come to me. Apparently, they thought I was cute. Not in the I wanna date them kind of
way. It was more of the adorable like a baby kind of cute. I didnt mind it so much, but I didnt
see how I was cute. I had always looked forward to talking to them on the bus because it was the
only time I could talk to them. I hated that fact because once I left the bus, I would never see
them throughout the rest of my day at school. The kids that confront me usually made fun of me,
or beat me up. I was a small kid, so it mustve been quite easy for them to pick on me. I
remembered my times on the bus seeing how happy those kids were in the back seat. Maybe, this
was their way of showing affection, I would often tell myself. I was a bit naive, so I didnt know
the difference between having friends and having people posing as your friends. I didnt care,
however, because I found enjoyment in it. Often times, I wouldnt play with them or anything
like that. The only thing I would do was blindly do whatever mundane task was given to me.
These tasks ranged from retrieving the ball from a bush that was inhabited by a territorial hive of
wasps and hornets to shutting the hell up. When Id mess up, theyd show their disappointment
with some acts of discipline and that goddamn glare. I really hate that glare. Despite the usual
pain I felt when I was hanging around my friends, I sucked it up, and carried on with their
tasks that were asked of me. I didnt want to give up the only opportunity I had for feeling
appreciated, despite the fact that I knew I was being used. It was a warm welcome into my life,
which made living my life much much worse.
I was not a smart kid, either. Not in the slightest possible way. When it came to problem
solving, I was unable to pull through. I would often stare at my work for hours on end until my
vision started to dissipate. When my vision was all distorted and blurry, doing my work was
impossible. The most work I would do in an assignment like that would involve daydreaming. I
would often imagine scenarios in my head, and I would watch them play out as if I were
watching a Sherlock Holmes film, but with me as the main character. The tint would often be a
tint of a pale grayish color that would appear over the already established ROYGBIV colors and
every variation of those colors. At certain moments, Id even imagine a slow-motion action,
which would allow me an opportunity to strategize some counterattack, or even some random
action that was necessary to take. That would usually be my entire class time when I was
supposed to be working on something. If I wasnt daydreaming, I was being distracted by every
little thing that moved, or I was drawing pictures. The things that would distract me included
slight, insignificant movements, like a branch scratching the window or a gnat landing on top of
the head of the teachers pet right in front of me. The average student of the normal eye, let alone
of my own age, wouldnt even notice the gnat in the first place. This mightve been due to my
odd attraction to detail. My drawing habit derived from the many years of watching cartoons
every day. I loved every single detail that came with every single movement the characters made.
From the wrinkles that formed when a character changed his expression from happy to angry, to
the immediate contact of the characters fist piercing into another characters face. That passion
for the little details prompted my desire to draw. And it stuck with me throughout my entire life.
My teachers would often yell at me for not doing the work. It makes sense in terms of
what students are supposed to do in school, but the violent nature of each individual teacher as
they proceeded to roar in the face of a young child was completely uncalled for, especially in
front of an entire goddamn classroom full of well-behaved students, who only want to do their
work. The human instinct is a bitch. The moment something moves abruptly or emits a sound
that could fill up an entirely empty mansion with echoes for the next 3 minutes, the people that
hear it immediately turn to observe whats going on. This was no exception. It was just basic
human instinct. The biggest highlight of this situation happened in the second grade. At the time,
I was undergoing some trauma. I was a tad bit emotional. Too emotional for my good,
apparently. We, the students, were doing this project that involved doing research on a specific
culture of our own choosing. Well, as long as they were on the list of cultures. That very day was
the day of presentations. Of course, I didnt do it because none of the cultures that were approved
on the list were interesting whatsoever. That stupid list included Chinese Culture, Native
American Culture, Spanish Culture, Indian Culture, Scottish Culture, White Culture,
Sports Culture, and Food Culture for some fucking reason. African Culture wasnt even
approved, which made no sense whatsoever. My second grade teacher, Ms. Harmon, wouldnt
put in African Culture, but she put in Food Culture as an option. Thats just stupid. Back to
the presentations, I knew I was gonna get yelled at today for not having my project ready to
present. I think thats why she made me go last that day. There was a Chinese girl doing her
project on Chinese Culture, appropriately. Now, she had an impressive presentation. She had a
huge poster board with pictures and photographs of events and objects related to ancient Chinese
tradition and modern Chinese tradition. She brought in a crap ton of authentic Chinese food. Not
like that Americanized crap that Panda Express sells. It was authentic. At least, thats what she
told the class. She brought those dried noodles that tasted like salty crackers. She brought
noodles, too. I cant remember what kind of meat she brought, but it was cold and kind of
clammy so to speak. Being impressed by her presentation, I wanted to show my appreciation for
how well she did. Remembering some of the Chinese language that I learned, coincidently, a few
weeks back, I thanked her in Mandarin. Dont get me wrong. I know it sounds really bad. I know
it sounds like I could be potentially insulting her culture and her ethnic background, but that
wasnt the case. The concept of racism and prejudice was never a thought in my little eight year
old mind. Despite that unwavering fact, my second grade teacher thought otherwise. As per
usual, she yelled me.
Shut up! she screeched. You have disrupted this class for the last time!
But all I said was thank you, I pleaded in sorrow as her eyes glared into my own.
I dont care what you said! You were disruptive! You were offensive! You are being
disrespectful! And I bet you dont even have your project with you. Am I wrong?
I stood there in silence. I slowly looked down, trying to hold in my tears. As Ive said
before, I had been going through some trauma and I became immensely emotional quite easily.
Remembering the countless situations that Ive broken down crying, I tried my best to keep my
composure. I didnt want to break down this time, but the bitch made it so goddamn difficult to
restrain myself.
AM I WRONG? she repeated.
I gritted my teeth. I could feel myself about to erupt. Tears began to surface from deep
down from my soul to the pockets of my eyes like a dam being overflowed with too much water.
I slowly peeked my head up and glanced at her. The look in her eyes was maddening. It made me
want to kill her. It really did. There was something about her expression that I hated. Her
eyebrows were slightly pointing downward, creating the element of anger in her expression. Her
nostrils were flaring, which didnt compliment the massive amount of wrinkles that accompanied
her aging face. But those eyes. Those goddamn eyes. They just glared at me. It was a
conglomerate of different feelings that emitted from those eyes and pierced itself through my
soul. She was angry. She was upset. She had hatred in her eyes. But what stood out?
Disappointment. Those same eyes appeared everywhere I went. Those same eyes were on the
faces of everyone I have ever met up to this point. Those same eyes are the eyes that haunted my
every waking hour, knowing that no matter what I did to be nice, no matter what I did to improve
myself, no matter what I did to be the son that my mother wanted to be would never be enough
to satisfy them.
No, my shaky voice manage to utter. I looked around the classroom to see if anyone
was staring. I observed the looks on their faces as they witnessed the outrage happening in front
of them. Their eyes, each and every single one of those stupid kids eyes. They all glared at me
with those same eyes. They were all doing it, aiming those haunting looks at me as if I was some
sort of criminal. I might as well be after. Right then and there, I wanted to break down crying.
But how could I? I didnt want to lose control. I made a promise to myself. I didnt want to let
down my mother. Not again. But then.
Thats what I figured, Ms. Harmon continued. Youve done nothing but fool around.
You cant even do one single assignment without saying stupid and immature.
It was bad enough that I couldnt fight back, especially with all these students around me.
I wanted to stand my ground. I wanted to be able to defend what little honor I had left. But thats
just it. I couldnt do it. I told myself I wouldnt do it. Ms. Harmon said something to me that Ill
never forget. It is forever edged into my soul. Into my memories.
You are a disappointment, said Ms. Harmon. Youre a disappointment to me, to this
class, to this entire school, and most importantly, to yourself. Your mother would be ashamed.
My vision went crimson. I dont even remember if I was even conscious enough to accept
what I did, but I knew it happened. I saw it with my own two eyes, and I felt it with my own
flesh and bones. I glared up back at her. My heart was filled to the point of no return. There was
fire coursing through my veins. The flames were emitted from my soul, burning with rage and
anger. It felt invigorating. I felt the flames absorb me. I felt it take over my body, but it wasnt
parasitic. No. I let it. It was a feeling I had yet to feel. And it felt so good. The power that ran
through my blood. The power that poisoned my mind and blinded it. The power that I needed to
conceal. It was now unleashed. In a blink of an eye, my hand folded into a fist, and flung itself
into Ms Harmons line of sight. I watched as my fist struck her dead in the face, knocking her
backwards, causing her to fall flat on her ass against a wall. Three of the observant students
rushed to her aid. The rest looked at me differently. I must have triggered something in them. I
must have struck fear into their eyes because not a single person stopped me as I ran out of the
classroom door, and attempted my flee from the goddamn school.
I bolted out of the classroom and out the door. I couldnt turn back. Not now. I was in too
deep. I kept running. As the wind flew across my face, I heard a siren. It wasnt a police siren. It
wasnt a siren from a firetruck. It couldnt have been. There was no fire in the area. It was the
school siren. One of the students must have reported the administration about my incident. I
stood in the center of the fields. I observed as many security guards and admins were barricading
the exits to the school. The front gate, the back gate, the walls, everything was barricaded and
sealed. A few short moments, I was surrounded. On my left was the security units that were left
to apprehend me. My right side was no different. I was doomed to fail, and I knew that.
However, in my rage lied no presence of common sense. Without a moments notice, I darted
towards my left side, striking two of the guards in the knees. I flew passed them in a flash. I
headed for main gate. Somehow, I was faster than all of them. I was faster than highly trained
security guards with years of experience. I crossed them at every turn at I could. In front of me
lied my only way out now: the main gate. The guards were positioned in front of the enormous
gate awaiting my attempt to escape.
I felt unstoppable. I had never felt a power like this before. Not in my life. I was always
overpowered. I was always the one cowering in fear. I was always the one that was beaten at
every turn. This new power was riveting. It was explosive. It was addicting. I never wanted to
let it go. But thats the thing about power, isnt it? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts
absolutely. When I embraced this power, I had no control. I couldnt make any conscious
decision whatsoever. I was never holding the wheel. I was only in for the ride. And thats why I
failed.
I couldnt analyze the situation. Not thoroughly, anyway. I couldnt think of strategy to
cross the three guards. I couldnt figure out what each of their lacking skills were to exploit an
escape plan. I couldnt hypothesize possible injuries I could inflict onto them. I couldnt do any
of this because I couldnt think. Just as I approach the door, the guard was charging tat me. I
didnt evade him. I took him head on. I took on a large six foot something guy with arms bigger
than my head, and I didnt think twice about the outcome. I got knocked down to the cement
flooring, smashing my head against the pavement. I remember the sharp pain that came with it. It
was almost instantaneous, with a rapid burn scraping the top-right side of my face. My vision
changed from the crimson red, that had blinded me in my entire incident, to the normal colors I
saw while I was conscious of my own actions. From there, my vision immediately became blurry
and distorted, showing what I realized was the black pavement appearing closer into my line of
sight. I remember legs surrounding my very position during my collapse. Any detail after that
was beyond my comprehension. My vision became pitch black, with no sign of anything or
anyone appearing to me.

Faith
 Before I woke up, I remembered something. There is no possible way for me to
prove to anyone whether or not this actually happened, but it felt real to me. I dont think it was
dream, but it would be completely insane to believe me. I was standing in a glimmering
atmosphere, filled to brim with seemingly transparent fog. It felt so minimalistic, but at the same
time had the complexity of the understanding of the human mind. There were a few objects
present: a glistening silver table, an immense glimmering chair kind of like a throne, and then
there was a gate. It wasnt like the front gate at the school. It was large. It looked taller than the
Empire State Building. It ranged from the far left to the far right, but it never seemed to end. It
was an incredible sight. It was just wondrous. No man-made structure could be as endless and as
remarkable as this one. It had to be a dream. There was no way this was real. I decided to explore
a bit, and walked down to my right, following the seemingly endless gate. It felt like I was
walking for more than two hours. I kept walking and walking continuously to the right side, but
everything looked exactly the same as before. Its as if nothing had changed, despite my
continuously tedious efforts to walk. The same glistening silver table appeared in my field of
view. The enormous throne appeared as well. Was I walking in a circle? Was I in a continuous
loop? Where where was I? I stopped walking after what seemed like forever. I sat down on the
soft, fluffy ground to think.
Where am I? I asked myself. What is this place?
I couldnt figure it out. This place. It looked so simple, yet it felt so complex. It was
puzzling. All I could remember prior to this was that I got knocked out. My outbreak was the
only thing that flashed its ugly head at me. What I did to those people: Ms. Harmon, those
students, those guards, those admins. I just kept thinking and thinking and thinking about what
had happened that day: what I had done to all of them. I sucker punched my elder in the face. I
scared those students. I might have broken two of the guards knees. Someone could have died.
Someone could have died, and it would have been my fault. Their blood would have been in my
hands. Their lives would have been taken by me, the one person who went out on a rampage for
not being able to control my emotions. I lost control. And I knew that. I couldnt forgive myself
for any of what had happened.
Ms. Harmons voice echoed in my head. You are a disappointment. Youre a
disappointment to me, to this class, to this entire school, and most importantly, to yourself. Your
mother would be ashamed.
Despite how rude and unprofessional she sounded when she told me, her own student in
the second grade class she taught herself, all of those insults, I knew she was right. I was a
disappointment. I couldnt think of anyone I hadnt disappointed. Ive disappointed my mother,
my father, my instructors, my peers, my entire neighborhood, and even myself. Why couldnt I
be like the other kids? Why couldnt I be loved unconditionally by my parents how other parents
loved their own kids? Why couldnt I have a normal brain? Why didnt I have to be cursed with
a sensitive personality? Why couldnt I be free of these cursed emotions? Why did I have to
suffer? I kept asking myself these questions, and the millions of more questions that branched
out from the original questions in my head.
I looked back at what my mother told me many years ago. She had always told me about
the stories of The Bible, and Gods determination to guide the human race into peace and
prosperity. Or, something like that, anyway. My mother was a very religious woman. She had
always put her religion before anything else. She loved having a relationship with God because it
gave her faith. Faith in herself. Faith in her ability to do something greater than she. Shes told
me stories about how God had helped through many crises. When her mother got sick, she
prayed to God to help her heal. A few weeks later, my abuelita was the healthiest she had ever
been since she was a mere child. When I was at risk of premature death while my mother was
pregnant with me, she prayed to God to keep me safe. The next day, I was safe, for the time
being. When she got pregnant again, she prayed to God for a girl to accompany her son. Nine
months later well, the obvious thing happened. She had always put her faith in God. She
believed that He had a plan for all of us. Blindly believing her, I became as religious as she was
at the time. I went to Church. I prayed every night with my mother before I headed to bed.
Whenever I had a nightmare (which occurred almost every night), I prayed to God to help my
consistent unrest.
Thats the thing about faith. Putting faith into something like God is, essentially, like,
trusting myself saying that luck will be on my side. That isnt true, unfortunately. From the
moment I was born to that very moment, I had nothing good happen to me in my life. Whenever
I got beaten my father, I didnt get the help I needed to resist him. Whenever I got sick, I prayed
to help God keep me healthy. One day later, I was in far worse condition than I was previously.
Whenever I had my recurring nightmares appear to me in the night, I would pray to help me keep
calm. Afterwards, another nightmare would arrive, scarier than the one before. I realized that all
of the effort I put into showing my faith to God was all in vain. It felt as if He wasnt listening. It
felt as if He couldnt care less about me. What did I do wrong? Why wouldnt He help me when
I need Him? I didnt tell my mother these thoughts of mine. Its bad enough that I already
disappoint her. What good would telling her all of this do? Luck has never been on my side, and
Id be nothing but a fool to depend on it.
Thats when I heard something. A sound. Some noise. Like a voice. It was soothing. It
was charming, but it had a hint of concern mixed with the tune of its voice. It sounded like a
man. I stood up from my spot, and began to proceed towards the sound of his voice. It was
emanating from behind the throne. I continued to walk towards that direction, passed the gigantic
throne. The voice was getting louder. It didnt sound like yelling. It was worrying. Worrying
about something. But what could be the worry? As I continued my path, I stumbled upon a
house. It looked like an average house. It had a roof, It was about two stories tall. Maybe even
three. It had a front porch, which consisted of a cement path lying between the grassy lawn. But
this house was different. The borders of the houses (the roof, the windows, the door frame) were
gold. Solid gold. The walls were just the cleanest shade of white I had ever seen. Not a speck of
dirt poisoned the simplistic beauty it held so dear. I continued to follow the voice. It was coming
from inside of the house. No. It wasnt a voice. It was more than one. Two voices came from
inside that house. I quietly snuck up to the door, hoping not to disrupt the conversation these
people were having. I tried to listen in through the waves that hit bounced off of the door. I
couldnt hear anything. Their voices were muffled. Distorted. It was almost impossible to hear
what they were saying.
I wanted to know what was going on. Why was here? Why do I feel like Im alone in this
place? I felt like I didnt belong here, but I dont know what made me feel this way. I needed
answers. Maybe these people could tell me what was going on. Maybe then, I can grasp onto
reality.
My curiosity got the best of me. I decided to search around the house for a way in. I
couldnt use the front door. That would be stupid. I didnt want to be rude, but I didnt want to
wait until they finished either. I sidestepped against the wall towards the back of the house. I
tried my best to avoid making noise as much as humanly possible. As I continued to sidestep,
their conversation began to become less distorted. Less muffled. I began to understand some of
the words they said as I came closer to the back.
This isnt right, I heard one of them say.
Theres no other choice the other person said.
What in the world were they talking about? I thought to myself as I continued to sneakily
make my way towards my destination. I look up above me. There was a window. An open
window. Thats where the sound was coming from. I heard their voices clear as day from that
window. I stood up carefully to peek through it to see who was in the house. To my surprise, the
house was empty. Completely empty. Its as if someone had just moved out of the house. I
couldnt see anyone, but those voices were much clearer than ever before.
Do we have to take such drastic measures? one of them said.
What do you suppose we do? the other one said. Dads gonna kill us if we dont do
something to get rid of him.
I wondered who they were talking about. I climbed up the window and into the house. I
carefully placed my foot onto the ground. I didnt want to fall and make noise. The moment my
little legs land inside of the house, I hid behind a wall. I sidestepped towards the voices, sliding
my feet against the flooring.
Hes but a child. He can still learn if we can just guide him.
He doesnt care if that kid is a newborn child. Hes gonna suffer the consequences
regardless of his age.
But why? He could be of great value in time.
Who were these guys talking about? I havent seen anyone else here, other than me. I
reached the end of the wall. It was down to this. I could peek at them to see satisfy my curiosity,
getting caught in the process, or I could just listen. I wanted to know.
 I peeked my little head out halfway from the wall to see what was going on. I saw them.
It was two guys. One of them looked an Aryan man: light skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. He wore a
white dress shirt, white jeans, and white shoes. Everything he wore was just the purest shade of
white. The other one, also wore all white gear. But it wasnt as casual as the blonde ones
clothes. He was bald. The top of his head was literally glimmering with the reflection of the
white aura that was emitted throughout the house. He wore glasses, similar to prescription
glasses. He didnt seem like the type of guy who would need them, though. He had a short
scruffy beard that complimented his unusually white leather jacket. I have never seen a white
leather jacket before in my life. I wasnt even aware that they had existed until now. He wore
white baggy jeans, too. The thing I noticed about them too wasnt how odd their clothing looked.
It was the lumps in their back. I couldnt tell of that was muscle or if it was just something in the
background.
The bald one spoke. So, you really think you could take care of him? You really think
you can lead him towards the right path?
Yes, I do. the blonde one replied.
With an unnecessarily dramatic sigh, the bald one complied. Im gonna regret this. Ill
tell Dad to give him another chance.
Thank you, Chris.
Just dont embarrass yourself. Okay, Vic?
Got it.
And just like that, the bald one called Chris looked up. The lumps in his back began to
move outwards. They began to spread like an eagle spreads its wings to fly. But thats just it.
Those lumps were wings. They were majestic. The wings were spread across the back of Chris
with a beautifully pure white feathery texture. He, then just disappeared into the light.
In amazement, I gasped, rather loudly I might add. The one called Vic looked back
towards my direction. He saw me.
I didnt know what to do. I wanted to run as fast as I could and jump straight out of that
window I came in. But I was frozen. I physically couldnt movement. I couldnt tell whether or
not I stood in fear. Maybe I stood there because I had already accepted defeat. Maybe I already
knew it was over. I just stood there in awe, watching as the blonde creature approached me.
What was he? He looked human, but judging by his bald friend, it was hard to believe that that
could even be a possibility.
He finally approached me. He towered me by maybe three feet. He stood tall and firm,
gazing down upon my shortness. I didnt know what to do. What was going to happen? What
was he going to do to me?
He smiled at me as I looked up at his gleaming presence. How did you find this place?
He asked in a soothing voice.
 I just stood there in awe. I was speechless. I thought maybe he would kill me, or
something. But no. He just smiled. Why? I finally managed to utter out some words after half a
minute of awkward silence.
I heard some noise, so I- I- uhh I followed it here. I replied softly as I looked down
in embarrassment.
No, he said. I meant how did you get here? This place is supposed to be impossible to
get to for any human.
What do you mean? I asked. Are you not a human?
He looked at me in a surprised manner. Then, he chuckled. That joyful chuckle turned
into a innocent laugh. I dont know why, but when I was next to him, I felt so comfortable. I felt
like I was at home. Not my actual house, but at home. Where I felt like I belonged. I looked at
him, wanting to give him a hug. He just had this aura to him that seemed so lively and
comfortable. It felt like I was talking to an older brother. I just couldnt help but smile back. I
even chuckled a bit, too.
No, he replied, still chuckling at my comment. Im actually not. Im what you call an
angel.
Of course. Of course he was an angel. The wings. They were a total deal breaker. That
shouldve been obvious from the very beginning. Why couldnt see that?
I guess that makes sense, I replied calmly. I didnt want to embarrass myself anymore
than I already have.
How much did you hear? The conversation, I mean.
I dont know, I answered. I just heard something about a child, and something about
some guy suffering. Or something like that. I dont know.
He looked at me, and sighed. He must have been relieved by my knowledge of their
conversation, despite the fact that I didnt hear much of it. He must have been worried about
something. Was I not supposed to know something?
Thats good, he finally sighed. I dont think I have properly introduced myself. My
name is Victor.
He stuck out his hand. By instinct, I went in for a handshake. I didnt want to be rude.
Its nice to meet you, Vic, I greeted back. My name is-
Jeremy. I know who you are.
H-how do you know my name? I asked in disbelief.
Its my job. I mean, I am your guardian, after all, he said, smiling down at me.
Guardian? Whats a guardian?
Oh, right. Well, a guardian is someone who watches over someone. For protection, or
for safety.
So, your job is to keep me safe? I asked.
Exactly, he answered. Im your guardian angel.
 I looked at him with mass confusion. What was he talking about? Like the ones sent by
God?
Yes, actually.
So, that answered one question that I had. But I still needed to know more.
Do you happen to know where I am? I asked. All I remember is that I was at school,
and I got knocked out. Then, when I woke up I was here.
Youre in the Kingdom in the Clouds. The Nirvana of the Sky Above. Youre in a place
beyond space.
Heaven?
Vic nodded his head in affirmation.
Am I you know?
No, Vic answered. At least, you shouldnt be. Youre very much alive as far as I can
tell.
Thats weird.
Indeed, he agreed.
Then, how did I get here? Why am I here?
I dont know, actually. Maybe, you were brought here?
By who?
Thats what I want to know. Vic looked over behind him and yelled, CHRIS!
Who was he calling? Was it that bald guy that left earlier? I believed that that was his
name.
CHRIS! CHRIS! CHRI- Oh, for goodness- CHRIIIIIIS!
Suddenly, a flash of light shot down onto the ground, emitting some immense power. Out
of the light appeared the same bald guy from earlier. He looked a bit grouchy coming down. Was
he mad or something?
WHAT DO YOU WANT, VICTOR?!? he asked angrily.
Relax, Chris, Vic said with ease. I just need your help with something.
What could you possible need my help wi- He stopped himself when he noticed me. He leaned
towards my right side, passed Vic to look down at me. His eyes widened with disbelief as he saw
my short stature. Oh, was all he could utter.
Yeah. So, you kinda see the predicament I'm in right now, Vic replied.
How did he get here? Chris asked.
That's what I'm trying to figure out, Vic said.
So, then. Why do you need me? If you can't figure it out, what makes you think I could
do it?
Do you think you can access the daily log? Vic asked. You know, to see if someone
brought him here.
You really think someone brought him here? asked Chris. I mean, look at him. He's
still alive. Not to mention that the things he's done lately shouldn't even allow him to be here.
 He glared at me with disappointment in his eyes. It wasn't like the look that everyone else
gave me. It was more to embarrass me, which didn't hurt my feelings.
I looked down realizing he knew what had happened prior to my arrival. So, you know
about that?
Chris stood up tall and replied. Yes, Jeremy. I know. In fact, we ALL know about what
had happened at school. Even Vic, here, knows about that.
I looked at Vic for his thoughts on this. Once he saw me, he turned, quickly, tugging on
his collar. Even he knew about it, which made me all of the more embarrassed.
Who else knew about this? Not just who else? How many knew about this? This was a
thought that began to haunt my mind for a while.
Vic looked back at Chris. How else could he have gotten here? I cant see any other
legitimate reason on how he could have gotten here other than being brought here.
Yeah. I guess youre right, Chris agreed. Afterwards, he pulled a small round figure out
of his white leather jacket.
The round figure could easily be mistaken for a tennis ball. Well, a tennis ball that was
golden and was made entirely of a metal exterior. It had a rather large white button on the top of
it. Despite almost everything in this room being whiter than the purest flake of snow, it was the
one thing that stood out above all else.
Chris pushed the button on top of the object with his thumb. From there, another light
emerged. This time, the light emerged from the ball. It displayed a transparent screen that
enabled anyone to see any visual media that it broadcasted. Essentially, it was a hologram, but
without the distorted audio and footage, and without the blue tint from most Sci-Fi films.
Lets check the footage, shall we?, demanded Chris.
The footage displayed the exact spot where I appeared, but this must have been prior to
my arrival. I was nowhere to be seen. For approximately ten seconds, nothing appeared in that
broadcast. A few moments later, a light flashed onto the screen, completely blinding the lens.
After a few moments, the flash dissipated. From within that blinding light, I appeared on the
ground, lying on my side, almost in a fetal position. However, the person, or whatever it was,
that had brought me here was nowhere to be seen.
Damn! Chris exclaimed. Nothing. Mustve cloaked or something.
Do you know if this entry was recorded into the check-in list? Vic asked.
Checking it right now.
He opened up the application and read the names allowed. Lets see. Uriel. Michael.
Ambriel. Zadkiel. Tzaphkiel. Daniel.
It could be Zadkiel, offered Vic.
No, Chris denied. It couldnt have been him. He wouldnt have brought him here if
that was the case. He would have hid him somewhere else. Not somewhere where he can easily
be spotted.
I guess youre right, Vic agreed, though not very eagerly.
 Sorry. None of these guys could have done it, Chris confirmed. This log was from
hours ago. Jeremy has only been here for half an hour, at most.
So, theres no way that any of them could have brought him here?
Nope. Not unless they fell under the radar.
Vic stood still for a few moments. He rested his hands on his chin. He mustve been
thinking about who else could have brought me here.
Maybe, it was Dad? Vic told Chris.
Why would it be Him out of everyone else? questioned Chris. Hes the one that
wanted to get rid of hi-
Vic interrupted Chris with an obnoxiously loud cough, and jolted his head towards my
direction. I looked at Vic, and then looked back at Chris. Chriss expression had changed so
suddenly.
Oh, he said, softly. Right. I forgot.
What is he talking about? I asked Vic.
Vic hesitated for a moment, as if he wasnt expecting me to ask him that. Its nothing of
concern to you at the moment. But right now, I need to get you home.
I agree with Vic, here, Chris said to me. I think itd be better for all of us if you left
this place. Its bad enough that youre here right now. And if Dad finds out, oh boy.
Oh, I replied, disappointed. Okay, then.
Besides, Vic reassured me, I have to talk to you in private anyways. Its important.
Okay, I said as I nodded my head.
Alright. Lets get you back home, then. Vic yet again had his sweet smile on his face as
he lead me out the front door.
Right before I left the house, I looked back at Chris and waved at him. It was nice to
meet you! I exclaimed with a huge smile on my face.
He acknowledged me by looking at me as I left. I saw him look down and chuckle a bit.
That made me kinda happy as I left the house.
Jeremy, Vic alerted me. There is something I do need to talk to you about.
I looked up at him in confusion. What about?
Its about what happened back there. Back at your school, I mean.
Oh, I sighed. I expected a lecture from him. I cant really imagine my life without
another lecture. Its just normal nowadays.
I know you couldnt exactly control yourself while you were rampaging. And I get
that.
But? I interrupted.
Vic sighed. But you need to try to control it as best as you can. I can only protect you so
much. I have guidelines, you know? I cant just do whatever I want to protect you.
Why not? I asked.
 Because my dad told me not to, Vic said. As much as I dont want to listen to His
strange judgement sometimes, I dont really have a choice. Hes my father. I have to obey him,
or else I could get in big trouble. Besides, I love my father. I would never disobey him unless it
was for a good reason.
Does he love you? I asked, abruptly.
Hm?
Your dad. Does he love you back?
Vic, again, hesitated for a moment before answering. I guess in a way. He loves all of
us. Even you.
Why me?
Because youre his child.
I looked at him with one of the stupidest faces I had ever had in my life. I was so
dumbfounded and so confused. Uh
Yes, your biological father is still your father, but you are one of Gods many children.
And, well, so am I.
So, youre like my big brother?
Vic smiled at me. Yeah. I guess I am. And Ill always be here to protect you. But if I
happen to not be around, then pray. You can pray to me. You can pray to God. Just do what you
can. Ill take care of you.
Do you promise? I asked as I held up my pinky.
Vic nodded his head and stuck his pinky out as well. I promise.
Our pinkies interlocked. He really had this very comfortable aura to him. I dont know
what it was to be completely honest. He let go of my pinky.
This is where I have to leave you, he said.
Okay, I answered. I felt like I was swelling up. I hated that I was gonna be separated
from him. Will I ever see you again?
Vic hesitated. But then, he managed to make a light smile. Maybe, someday.
I ran to him and wrapped my little arms around his waist. I didnt want him to leave me. I
felt so alive with him. I felt like I was at home. I felt like I belonged here, and I didnt want to
leave. He felt my tiny embrace around his waist, and returned the favor. We stood there for what
felt like an eternity until he let me go. I know I had to do the same.
Ill see you around, he said as he waved at me.
The sight of him was vanishing. I was being enveloped in a ray of shimmering lights,
kinda like there was magic in the air. After that, I found myself opening up my eyes once more. I
was in a bed. It wasnt my bed, however. It looked old. Less comfortable than my own bed. I
looked around the room I was in. A machine was placed right next to me and the bed I was in. It
had these neon green lines displayed on the monitor. They looked like mountains that were
reflected against the clear water of an enormous lake. I looked to my opposite side to see my
mother asleep in a chair. She was snoring pretty loudly.
 Mom, I managed to utter softly.
She immediately stopped snoring, and looked up at me. A tear began to drip down her
face. A stream of tears soon followed suit. She ran up to me and hugged me, crying her eyes out
into my left shoulder. Her voice was shaky. I tried to calm her down by rubbing her back, but I
dont think it helped much.
Its okay, Mom. I reassured her. Im fine.
She remained suffocating herself into my shoulder. She grabbed my head and kissed the
top of my forehead for about five seconds. She, then, looked into my eyes and tried to speak.
Im just glad youre safe, Flaco. That was her nickname to me growing up. Dont
worry me like that, again. Do you hear me? Never again.
I wont, Mom, I gave in.
She suffocated herself into my shoulder once more, continuing her session of crying.
I had never realized what I had done that day to make her so worried about my wellbeing.
It wasnt until I got older that I realized what I had done. I looked up at the ceiling, thinking
about my encounter with Victor and Chris. I didnt know whether or not Id see them again. But,
that didnt matter because I knew, right then and there, that I had to make things right with her. I
couldnt afford to do her wrong again. I couldnt afford anyone else wrong again.
I thought about what Vic said about his own father. He said he loved Him. Love. Love
was never an idea I had in my head. Who did I love? Who loved me? That was never something
I took to heart. Not until that day in the hospital. I needed love in my life. If I could get my
fathers love, maybe I could patch things up with him. We could start over. Maybe.