Seattle TearDrops


Angel of Death
~Another old one, kind of relates to china doll but not really, lots of typos and grammar mistakes. But a good Read~

Seattle Teardrops
The heavenly teardrops seemed to gently kiss his face “good morning” as the gray skies gradually came to light. To him it was a simple reminder of where he was and for a few more desperate moments he was just camping with his father. He could hear his voice, off key, singing in the background as he fried something over the open fire. An egg perhaps, easy over with french toast and all the maple syrup he could have. The stale smell of burnt marshmallows still hung in the air from last night, but that didn’t matter…everything was perfect.

Until his dazed eyes open to the next few sparkling teardrops and his ears begin to hear the sounds of passing vehicles and not the beautiful birds once imagined. Little by little his illusion faded into reality of a mildew, flea-invested sleeping bag upon a damp ground and a backpack for a pillow. His wonderful father’s voice, which he so often dreamed of what it sounded like, was now nothing but a drunken fool around a burning trash can.

Another Seattle day, the type of day when you knew there would be no sunshine and in this city that was daily. He stayed there for a few more minutes pondering over what reason there was to get up and greet the morning rain. He struggled to even remember last night.

“Perhaps for the better,” he thought.

There was no questioned about where the tiny bit of money he did have had gone. Instead of the wonders of food, that he could almost taste daily, it went to the pills and booze that would make him forget, forget that he was even alive to live such a life. Its not easy when you wake up to a place that angels and men alike have forgotten to realize that this is better then the home you left behind.

At least here her slurred words of false hope could not reach his ears, nor could the pounding fist of tonight’s lover touch his skin. Here he was not being jerked to this family and that, only to return to the same mess over and over again.

The thought of this made him sick, half on acid and half on life. He wanted to quite. Stop and be no more, but as of right now that was not possible. After servile more minutes he arose from the ground, half damp and tired. It was time for him to try and catch the bus.

“A buck fifty,” He said as he counted the handful of change in his pockets “enough for a ride to the library”

He slowly stuffed it back into the pockets of his long black pants that had seen better days. From there he pulled out his dark navy blue hoody, ripped and patch up and slipped it over his old Nine Inch Nails t-shirt that he got back when he was 13 years old. He could remember that night so clear when he got his precious shirt. It was so awesome his consular had taken him to his first concert. As he climbs the steps to the street above a half-witted smile crossed his face and the music and sounds of that night started to fill his mind. It was one of the few happy moments he had and he hung onto it like glue and it stayed with him for a few more seconds as he slipped his Goodwill trench coat on and his sunglass that where found on a shelf of some store.

He turned down the street of fancy houses, mothers and fathers rushing to work, kids trying to catch the school bus. Each in away missing what he so very much wanted…a hug goodbye…“I love you, Son”

Seventeen years old and these thoughts still haunted him. Four years still upon the streets and not once a missing person poster, his face or had anyone even stop to ask, “Are you…. David”

“No! Don’t think of it…. DON’T!” he shouted at himself so loud that the people on the street stop to take notice. It was in this realization that he had drawn attention to himself that he lowered his head down once again.

“Gray skies, gray sidewalk…always the same” he thought. “Always”

He reached his corner and as luck would have it, the rich business man leaving his house would leave half his Starbucks double shot mocha on the brick wall in a rush to get into his car. He slowed his pace up so he could time it just right to reach the coffee as the guy hit the end of the block.

Once the guy had inadvertently come back and caught him. He just sat in his car and rolled his window down to get a better look before laughing and driving off. It’s not like he wasn’t use to people mocking at him. What bothered him more was the fact that he was use to it.

Finally he reached the bus stop that offered a little bit of shelter from the now pouring rain. He had rode this same bus so many times he could tell you who was driving it just by what time it showed up. Today it was five minutes late, meaning it was Richard. Richard was a somewhat new guy and he wouldn’t let anyone on the bus till he counted every penny and sure enough five minutes on the dime, the bus was here.

“Not you again…” Richard said as his voice trailed off and he turned his head to the side.

“Aye, It’s me…I have places to go to you know.”

“Boy! You don’t even have a home. How you got any place to go? You ran away from….” He never listened to the rest. Richard wasn’t a bad person; he was just someone who rambled about things he couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter much anyways. How could anyone understand?

“I left a place that wasn’t a home and the only different between that place and the streets is… at least there I was dry.” He mumbled out the words hoping that no one would hear, but Richard did.

“Well…boy I hope you find something!” and with those last words the bus came to a halt. Richard just stared at him as he grabbed his pack.

“What’s you name?” Richard was trying hard to pretend that he didn’t care but somehow it showed through.

“David…” he replied standing up and making sure his coat lay neatly again.

“David…hmm…typical white boy name.” He said shaking his head as he reached out and grabbed David’s wrist “Here take these… A few cookies my wife made…Homemade too. Now don’t start thinking I m going to be nice enough to give you hand outs everyday…Its just well today I’m Feeling nice…. Now get off my bus before you make me late.”

With that it was a simple smile and an understood thank you. This was a rare occasion most people are not that nice. At least the ones he meant, but then Richard was usually a nice person… Good Hearted.

He quietly walked into the library trying hard to be unseen. Here is where one could sit and if you looked busy enough or pretended you were reading or about to check out and leave, they would let you stay. It was warm and one could almost get dry. Not to mention computers, books and magazines. To David this was how you stayed in touch with the world and there was only one other place this beautiful to him and that was a little Book Store with cats in it. If you were nice enough to them they would curl up with you and their warm fur and soft purring would soothe almost anything away.

He walked around a bit in the Sci-fiction section of the library and pretend to look at a few books he had read a thousand times over. From there his hands move to the classics… then fantasy and with each new book it was a different life, like he could just trade his in. If only things where that simple.

He waited around for about another fifteen minutes until finally a computer opened up. In big black letters on the sign up sheet her wrote “Brian”…he never used David at the library, just incase anyone ever came looking for someone and seen his face and name. Once awhile back ago someone almost mistaken him for another runaway, but since there was never a missing person filed for a child of his description they let him go.

As he typed in the site of the web page he wanted and singed into the chat room he kept thinking about if his mother ever missed him. Did she even remember him after so long? Mom, what a wonderful person she was. He remembers getting his first hit of acid from her when he was younger. His first trip into the nothingness of life and how beautiful it was.

Finally he felt alive. A little boy and his knife and all the wonderful things he could do with it while home alone. He could still feel the wood in his hand, the cool steal and the sharp edge. He stared at it and for a moment or two, just a moment it beckoned him to slice anything even himself. At first it was a sharp pain and a few tears, but then it became something more…much more. This was the tool; the answer to set him free and with that he let go of the raging wrath within.

This feeling enraged him and with every slash upon the walls, chairs and table, he could feel it draining out of him. All the lies ever spoken to him were shown with every new scar placed upon his chosen object. The broken dreams, the pounding fist…slurred words of empty promises, if they couldn’t feel it…they where sure as hell going to see it. It was like a power unimagined in a child of his age and he could still feel it to this day burning inside of him like hells own fire.

But as quickly as it was there… it was gone leaving him powerless to their mercy when they came home. He laid pass out at the doorway to the last room. The power had left him so weak he was unable to pick himself up out of his own vomit. His mind was cloudy and only the screaming voices and crying of his mother rendered any thoughts.

His eyes could barely focus on the darken shadow before him. It was much bigger then him and smelled of rotten booze and three day old whisky. He went to struggle to his knees when he finally felt the cold shadow’s hands upon him pulling his body off the floor and flinging him like the piece of trash he was across the room into the doorway. Then it was a fist of blinded fury that crippled his small 80lb body into little more then a bleeding pile upon the ground.

He started to cry. He wanted her…his wonderful mother to comfort him in anyway. But she just sat there in tears upon the floor holding a pillow with feathers falling out of it and watching.

He lay there for a few undisturbed seconds of peace, hoping this monster of a shadow would leave and forget him, but it didn’t. He heard his powerful voice and screams of unknown words that made no sense to him as the wooden swivel chair broke into a thousand pieces upon his body.

“GET OUT!” was the last words he remembered… “Get out…” how haunting they are now to him. With those words he was flung through the front door and over a wooden railing and into the rose bushes of thorns.

He blacked out for a second from all of the pain and when he opened his eyes, she stood before him. It was not his mother, but something different. She was like a ghost almost to him with fine blondish red hair, blue eyes and pale skin. She was dressed in white and had a scared innocents a crossed her face with a forced smile. He stared at her even though he could see the shadow coming from behind her and he mumbled the word “run”. She didn’t, she turned to look and then flung herself over him and with that he could recall no more.

“Why do I think of this crap?” he spoke quietly to himself while looking upon the screen to see all this had come out into a poem with the last few lines reading

“And I am but the lonely demon that seeks hers, the angel of beauty.”

He eyes slowly glanced over the approval of his poem. Words such as beautiful and wonderful scrolled across. Things about love and everything that his poem was not, they had once again misunderstood it. Then a small box appeared on his screen, a private chat box and the words seem to almost glow in it.

WhiteAngel: ‘You must have been through allot to write a poem of such pain.’

“You would never understand,” he found his fingers typing

WhiteAngel: ‘Do you think you’re the only one who has felt pain?’

“No,” He studied her words for a few seconds, “What would you say if I told you I had no home and had long since ran away?” Before he realized what he had typed it was to late.

WhiteAngel: ‘I would ask what you where running from?’

“Running from…Nothing,” his mouth mumbled out as he started to type more “I face the reality that this is a better life then the so called home I left behind… That I had no choice but to run and now I have to keep going just to find reason enough to live, what can you say to that?” He didn’t know what he wanted her to say, anything but that he was running, he wasn’t. He just wanted her to understand

WhiteAngel: ‘I would say “I hope your not running faster then your guardian Angel.” And you would….’

“Angel…What Angel, the girl from his past.” his mind raced on this thought, that girl he had never thought of her as a real angel or even a person. She was just a part of a bad trip and a memory that should have been forgotten long ago.

WhiteAngel: ‘That poem was about an Angel who saved you from pain and how you wish you could find her again.’


Angel of Death
He just stared at her words and tried to understand them. She kept typing away and the more she wrote, the more she was seeing through everything he tried to put up. Everything that no one else could feel nor see, she was. Out of desperation his figures typed, “Shouldn’t Angels know better then to play with demons”

WhiteAngel: ‘Will we Angels have to face our demons, for better or worse. We unlike demons, we do not get to run.’

He struggled to think of something cleaver to write to her. To say “Hey listen I told you I am not running… I have no where to run.” but the words were just not there.

WhiteAngel: ‘Well. I am taking off see ya.’

Looking at the time he soon realized it was time for him to take off as well, so he gently pushed his chair out and stood up bumping into the person behind him and knocking their notebook across the floor. All around him tiny little poems and stories, phrases and just scribbles and words floated down like tiny little feathers.. His voice softly spoke the word “sorry” and he began to help pick them up with out ever truly looking at the person.

He tried to keep his eyes down in doing so he seen the small piece of paper that said White Angel with roses all around it. From there he stood up and turned around. She had long reddish blonde hair, blue eyes and pale skin. She wasn’t dressed in white though. She had a small black shirt on with red and silver letters that said “Angel” and a pair of hip huggers that slightly bagged. Her hair was held in place by sunglasses with a black frame and red lenses. She smiled gently at him, almost with a soft innocent to it as she lifted her backpack full of dreams up.

“Are you White Angel? I mean where you in a chat room under that name…” he spoke

“Yes and you was the guy I was just talking to…huh?” She said with a half-witted smile.

“Yeah” He answered. He always thought the people he talked to live far away. Like he could open up to them because they would never see him and here right in front of him was one.

With out knowing it he started to walk with her. He just listened to her beautiful voice speak almost as if it was a song and not just words. She never mentioned anything about him being a run away with no home or even about how he didn’t look the cleanest. Though he never really smelled. He took a bit of his money every 3 days or so and washed his clothes with it. He would clean up almost daily in the restroom with the soap and toothpaste he stole. As long as he looked and smelled fairly clean he could slip into almost any store and get more supplies. But none of this seemed to matter to her. She talked the whole while they waited for the bus and when it arrived she paid his way on with out really taking heed to it.

“Are you hungry?” She asked

Up until this point he had forgot about being hungry and his stomach growled a little and then roared. She giggled slightly at the sound of this as they road the bus a few more blocks before getting off. Suddenly with out warning she took his cold hands in her warm ones and lead him into a little corner restaurant. They took a table in the back next to the window. He could see the small raindrops race down the glass and smell the food vapors gather around him.

“They have the best Nachos here.” She said looking at him with an intense gaze. Her eyes seem to sparkle as she told him about what was all piled on them… and how they made homemade ice cream that was awesome in root beer floats.

His ears only caught about every fifth word. He was to busy feeling her warm touch against his skin. How soft her hands where and how clean she smelled and how for this last hour she made him feel like he belonged somewhere. She was amazing.

They sat there and ate their nachos and talked about how beautiful the city looked in the rain and how so many people miss it and for the first time he really begin to see it. The lush green, the beautiful flowers everywhere. It was simple, nature and man intertwined and all these years he had only seen gray. He started to realize that she, this girl he only meant, was painting his world in color and she didn’t even notice.

From there it was a walk around the city, he showed her all the wonderful special places that few people knew about. All the tings he had found while living out here and sometimes he notice her eyes drifted like the clouds above and other times he would see small beams of sunlight dance across her face. She was so stunning she made the rain look just as beautiful.

As dusk approached they danced to the small sounds of the guy and his guitar with the raindrops still falling. They held each another close even though they where both freezing and soaked. Nothing really matter, this day was perfect.

Her lips seemly taunted his closer. She just smiled with so much pure innocents that it could drive one mad with passion, but for her he tamed it down and lightly placed his on them. Gently he let her melt into his arms as he closed his eyes and felt her lush lips kiss his back.

She broke free for a second… “You know I have to leave soon?”

“Aye…” He said as a few tears formed at his eyes.

“What’s wrong…” She whispered.

He stood there real quite trying hard to hold back the emotions building with inside. Every time something was perfect it always changed…he wanted to tell her this but he couldn’t find the words.

Finally after a few more awkward moments he said, “I am afraid that the rain will not look quite as beautiful once you leave. Long ago I once dreamed of a little girl with innocents such as yours and…” He never got to finish she softly placed her fingers over his lips and just smiled.

“I have never seen eyes such as yours. So childlike, yet they have seem horrors long since past. I was but a little girl when I heard a small child crying, a boy. Long ago did I go to him in my dreams and through myself upon him, so he would feel no more pain. And long ago did that boy run from his demons as well as me. Now I have found that boy almost a man…still running.” She held him close as he broke down and went to fall upon the ground, she held him up. With all her strength she held him close to her. She never spoke any more words until she was sure he was done, until she was sure every last drop of pain had been set free. Until there were no more tears to be had.

He went to speak but her sweet words broke the silence, “I am not leaving for good you know? You can find me another day.” Then she stepped into the shadows as he watched and listened until he could neither see nor hear her footsteps.

With that he was alone, always the same. He always ended up alone. He fell to his knees and open his back pack up to find the small white envelope that held the last of his drugs. But this time it was harder to swallow the jagged little pill. This time it was harder to want to forget, he had something worth remembering. Her soft giggle and beautiful smile, those eyes of pale blue and sweet tasting lips. Her voice of singing words and the moment, even if it was just a short moment, of not being alone.

He finally raised his eyes up in hopes she had come back for him, in hopes that someone would be standing there for him, but there was none. Instead he saw a pale light making the object below it glow. It was a phone with silver buttons and black numbers and letters. A typical phone covered in teardrops and Seattle mist and unlike most phones there laid two or more dollars worth of quarters.

He found his fingers gently wrapping around the receiver and picking it up. He shook with nerves as he placed the quarters into the slot, one by one until there was enough money in there for him to dial. To dial a number that he had not recalled in 4 years, a number that he was unsure if anyone on the other end would pick it up.

As he slowly dialed the number and listened to the other end ring he started to realize stuff in his life. The rich businessman who purposely left his coffee every morning. The lady at the bookstore who ignored the fact he was never going to buy anything, Richard who sometimes over looked the fact he was short a few cents. He had not been forgotten completely. Some still remembered him even in the slightest way. With these thoughts in his head he finally heard a voice over the other end.

“Hello,” it was a man’s voice one he could not recall from younger days.

“Is Cindy there? This is….” Before he could finish he heard her slurred somewhat sober words cross the line. Nothing had really changed.

“Mom,” He said. “Mom I want to come home. I want a home to come home to…”

“David…” Her voice trailed off….”I want you home too…. How can I get you to come home? I love you! You’re my only son, where are you?” He could barely understand her words. She was crying and they where half slurred.

“ Mom…things have to change.” He said “ for REAL this time.”

“I know they do… ” Her voice almost faded into the sounds of her tears. “ I am sorry… So sorry…”

He almost told her that he forgave her, but sorry doesn’t heal the past. Sorry doesn’t cure anything unless it met… They needed help. He needed her to understand that he could not live on the streets or in a home such as that. He was 17, almost a man and he had missed his only childhood, but that didn’t matter. He was doing what his angel had asked him too… what she had lead him too. He was facing his demons.